


A Brighter Tomorrow

by Oliver__Niko



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Gender Dysphoria, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Post-Canon, Post-War, Romance, Trans Female Character, Trans Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:15:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28632336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oliver__Niko/pseuds/Oliver__Niko
Summary: The war is over, but not without heavy losses. Sylvain and Ingrid must now learn to navigate a world without their childhood friends, and the latter also has to stand up to her father's bigotry as she takes her life as her own.As she and Sylvain heal and find solace in each other’s company, they solidify their feelings and slowly begin to build a future together.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 7
Kudos: 16
Collections: Sylvgrid Big Bang





	1. Broken Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> I've been excited to share this story! This is my first fic from Ingrid's POV and it was lovely to write. I do hope you enjoy it. My artist for this fic is @KaisenFletch on Twitter, and has produced several drawings which will be posted over the posting period. Go check him out!

None of this feels real. Not the tears falling down people’s faces, nor the cool wind blowing past them. The voice speaking above silent crying seems strained in order to not shake.

This too is distant. It might as well be miles away.

“He led the way to a bright future for us,” says Byleth, eyes flicking up from the paper in their hands. “And not only this, but no matter the hardships he faced, he played a special role in many of our lives.”

Ingrid bites her lip. She fixes her gaze on her lap, the material of her dress creasing through the fingers she grips at it. The more she attempts to stop her crying, the harder the tears fall. By now, she has accepted that she can do little more than merely silence her sobs.

Her eyes close, breathing in deeply, when a familiar, large hand lands on her knee and gives it a reassuring squeeze. Though the last thing she wishes to do is block out the respects given to a lost friend, she takes a moment to listen to Sylvain’s breaths and be reminded that she still has someone with her.

Sylvain breathes more sharply than usual, as though he is fighting back tears himself.

“... and we will never forget him, nor everything he has done …”

Everything seems to flood Ingrid’s mind at this moment, all of the memories and words and laughter, although is distant enough that her mind somehow also feels empty. Although perhaps that is merely the numbness of a grieving heart.

She notices that even though she cries, she dwells in less misery than before, realising how the funeral isn’t the same as the first moments after a loved one’s death.

The guests soon walk up towards the coffin, one by one. Ingrid and Sylvain are two of the first people to reach it. The dear childhood friends, after all, are seen as a priority. The two stand in front of the coffin. It appears so … perfect, and this almost doesn’t seem real, either.

Sylvain is the first of the pair to speak. “We’re going to miss you, Dimitri. You were more than just the person in line for the throne. Always so down-to-earth despite all that, never feeling as though you were above anyone. No matter your struggles, you were the greatest friend we could have asked for.” Though Sylvain swallows, he manages a shaky smile when Ingrid’s arm loops around his waist. She has only planned on a hug, but instead, Sylvain’s own arm wraps around her shoulders and keeps her by his side.

The only complaint she could have is how her walls seem to break down even further, when wrapped in the warmth of his embrace. “Thank you, Dimitri,” Sylvain continues. “Our lives would have never been the same without you, and thanks to all you’ve done, we can start building a brighter future for everyone. No one will ever forget that.”

A silence arrives, Ingrid knowing she has to speak herself.

Despite being someone who is usually so gifted with words, however, never afraid to speak her mind, no words come out when her mouth opens. Her throat closes up with a painful lump from her tears.

Her own speech during the funeral was rehearsed enough in front of a mirror for her to push through. In comparison, the words she has to speak are far, far more personal here. No script can be used. It would be wrong, insensitive, to put pride in some beautiful words given to a coffin.

There is simply so much for her to say that she finds herself speechless. She breathes in deeply. “Thank you, Dimitri.”

That’s all she manages. Perhaps she should feel guilty, but she’s much too drained to consider this; instead, when Sylvain’s arm around her tightens to bring her closer, she responds with leaning against him.

Speaking to the living is easier than the dead, and she says, “I wish there were more words I could say.”

“They’re not necessary,” says Sylvain. “I’m sure he knows how much you care for him. Who knows, depending on where people really do go after death, he could see us right now.”

Silence falls again, Ingrid unsure if this is a comfort to her or not.

They soon have to walk away from the coffin. It’s difficult. Ingrid’s chest tightens, realising how deeply it feels as though she is walking away from Dimitri himself. This is the first moment where they have to accept moving on. When her heart has already been heavy with grief for a long time, Ingrid isn’t sure how much she can bear the thought of letting go.

“At least he won’t be buried alone.” Her voice cracks, and a fresh flood of tears finds her. “There’s his family, and …”

“Felix.” Sylvain’s voice is almost frail, and when Ingrid brings her gaze to him, she finds tears are now trickling down his own face. “I’m glad the families are buried together. I—it feels less lonely, in a sense. As weird as that probably sounds.”

Though Ingrid’s throat is too choked up to speak, she shakes her head. She agrees completely. No one can be sure of what comes after death, but at least here on earth, the two will not be alone.

Neither will Sylvain nor Ingrid, as much as it feel as though this is the case. Losing half of the beloved quartet feels the exact same as losing the entire whole. No amount of kind words at a funeral will change that.

Ingrid’s head lifts to the sky when raindrops trickle against her face. It’s cold, especially for this time of year, but at least one can hide their tears in the rain.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Rest cannot arrive instantly after the war. Though the soldiers’ cheer of victory had symbolised the start of a new beginning and a sense of accomplishment remains with them, they cannot put everything on hold to bask in newfound peace.

Ingrid, as she and Sylvain alike are almost robotic during their duties, realises that stories rarely tell what comes directly after. Ashe has recently given the two new books to read. It’s a small act, and Ingrid cannot always focus on what is written on those pages, but she does sometimes need to immerse herself in another world. And in those worlds, whenever war comes into play, she notices they mostly focus on the positives in the future.

They might mention struggles, building a safe world for everyone to be treated equally, but they do not mention the continuation of bloodshed.

The flapping of her pegasus’ wings seem distant despite how close they are. Her ears focus on the split second her spear enters a man’s body. She has launched her attack as swiftly as always, pulling back the moment she inflicted the deadly wound, but the sound of steel penetrating skin echoes inside her regardless. Her eyes try to not land on the blood staining her weapon.

She has adjusted to that sight, however. As cruel as it may be, this is one man among many, and these nameless faces will never impact her the same way as when she had to strike down those she once called friends, during their days at Garreg Mach Monastery.

Her eyes flicker away from the man and to her surroundings. Her heart pounds loud enough to echo in her ears, over the shouts of pain which are so familiar to her. She swallows. If she is honest, she managed to get through the war easier than her friends. Dimitri was drenched in revenge and guilt alike. Felix threw himself into combat, although it was clear how much he yearned for days where lifting his blade could be for fun above all else. Sylvain lived as though expecting to die, perhaps feeling as though he was no different to his brother, whose hands had killed as well.

Ingrid … She never enjoyed the war. Far from it. But it was her duty, and it was a means to build a better future. Through the eyes of one who does not understand, perhaps slaying those who are unruly to their plans is no better than what Edelgard had done. It’s simply reality that these lives have to be lost, or at least captured, to prevent further losses.

It’s the same now. It’s better even, as Ingrid does not have to lift a blade to those she once cherished the friendship of. Those they have to take down are either ex-soldiers of the Adrestian Empire, trying to use bloodshed as revenge despite how this is far from what their emperor wanted, or bandits and thieves who are taking advantage of the loose ends which always arrive after the end of a war.

Regardless, even as she dismounts her pegasus at the end of a battle, sharing a smile with Sylvain when he trots towards her on his horse, her heart is heavy. She should be used to this. All of her energy should be spent on building this better future.

Perhaps she is tired of endless blood by now.

Still, it’s a distraction. That might be an awful word to describe all of this, but she cannot deny it. Remaining still, not allowing herself to do anything but dwell on her thoughts, her misery, would simply drive her insane. She would rather avoid killing completely. If she could make every person merely surrender through combat, she would choose it in an instant. As would Dimitri once he came to his senses. Felix, Sylvain. None of them could do this back then, and the latter and Ingrid still cannot do so now, and so, she might as well allow the adrenaline running through her veins to help her mind to focus on something else, other than how deeply she grieves.

Of course, this is not all to be done. It’s not simply those who have grown violent who stand in the way between them and a future worth living. Work has to be done to achieve that. They will likely keep fighting throughout their entire lives, putting plans in motion which will be continued by the next generation, and the next, throughout all the years to come.

It’s an exhausting thought. Simultaneously, Ingrid is grateful. Grateful that she can be part of this hopeful future, that it can exist at all should they fight hard enough for it, and that she will have at least a single thing to think about as the years pass. She’s not sure how much her heart will heal; at the moment, it seems impossible, but when she is surrounded by those who remain, those she cherishes, at Garreg Mach during their meetings, it does seem a little more hopeful that she may be happy again one day.

“Thank you all for joining us,” says Seteth, who finishes neatening some papers in his hands. “Claude will be pleased to hear of the progress we have made today.”

Chairs scrape across the floor as attendees around a table get to their feet. A ripple of voices follows, although one stands out above all others; Ingrid smiles when Mercedes heads closer to her.

“How are you, Ingrid?” asks Mercedes. “It truly is nice to see you.”

“And you too, Mercedes.” Ingrid pauses, trying to find the right words—it simply feels so _wrong_ to vent about her emotions inside a room full of hope and positivity. “I’m getting by. I hope you’re well.”

Mercedes’ smile grows, even if it does feel a little strained. “Yes, I am fine. I hope you know that should you ever need someone to talk to, I am here for you, as all of us are.”

When Ingrid nods, she means it. “I know. Thank you, Mercedes. I think I just need some time.”

“Of course. There is much your heart has to bear, and you should take as much time as you need to mend it.” Mercedes’ eyes flicker over to the side—specifically, Annette and Ashe standing together. “The three of us are going to head for dinner together. Would you care to join us?”

“To be honest, the dining hall is a bit overwhelming for me at the moment.”

Ingrid doesn’t explain why. How the walls of the monastery may hold a comfort in their familiarity, their sense of a place to call home, yet are still burdened with memories which cause Ingrid’s heart to ache. The meals shared with the Blue Lions in that dining hall hold many of them. All that chatter, laughter, those cheers of victory.

“I understand,” says Mercedes, her brow slightly creased. “Take care of yourself, Ingrid.”

“You too, Mercedes.”

As the woman walks away, Ingrid is joined by others instead; Sylvain, Byleth and Seteth, who have been talking to each other at the far end of the table.

“Hey, Ingrid,” says Sylvain. “I was just asking if Dedue is with Claude at the moment.”

“And he is?” She lets out a sigh of relief when the others nod. “That’s good. I know Dimitri’s death affected him just as much as it did us.”

“As mentioned, Claude is working alongside us in beginning the unification of Fódlan,” says Seteth. “It will be a challenging task, I am sure, and something which will continue long past either of your lifetimes. But we are already making fantastic progress.”

Byleth nods, adding, “Thank you both for all the help you have given us. It might be hard for you both to see this yourselves, but you have been a great help to everything. We might have not been able to do any of this without you.”

Sylvain places his hand on his hip, flashing Byleth a grin. “Awh, even a skirt-chaser like me can be of use sometimes? That’s wonderful.”

Usually, such words will be followed by Ingrid rolling her eyes; today, she remains silent. She has noticed that Sylvain hasn’t been like this for some time. In fact, she knows him well enough to understand when he is joking to mask his true emotions.

She can see them now, beneath the surface. How behind Sylvain’s eyes, he is always hiding persistent anguish.

“I implore you both to take time to rest,” says Seteth. “I know you have been run rampant lately, by battle and duties in either of your territories alike.”

“There’s no need to worry about that,” says Ingrid. “It’s simply what we must do.”

Sylvain hums in agreement. “Besides, it keeps us busy. Hard to dwell on grief when you have your hands full, you know?”

Ingrid glances at him. She has known this in theory, however … it truly does appear that she is not the only one to drown out all her sorrow by constantly being on her feet.

“I understand the need for a distraction,” says Byleth, “and I also know neither of you are throwing yourselves in danger. However, your limits may not be the same as they once were while you’re both recovering. I don’t want either of you to accidentally harm yourselves.”

“Me? Harm myself?” Sylvain grins, scratching the back of his head, as though he hasn’t had countless moments of shielding others and almost getting himself killed in the process.

“It would do you both well to slow down for a while, with all you have done over the last few months,” Seteth says. Ingrid notices the slight furrow of his eyebrows from Sylvain’s words. “Stay here for a few days. Though I respect both of your needs for a distraction, I believe you are as deserving of some rest as anyone.”

The two childhood friends exchange a glance. It's amusing how obvious the pair’s thoughts are when looking into each other’s eyes; Ingrid can tell she is not the only one who is struggling to seek out peace for herself, yet urges the other to do exactly that.

If the two are in equal agreement this way … “All right,” says Ingrid at last. “Perhaps we should stay here for a while longer before returning to our houses. Are you in agreement there, Sylvain?”

“As long as I get to see your beautiful face for a longer time, Ingrid, I am happy to be anywhere.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes, lightly punching Sylvain’s arm, although she’s unable to stop her small smile of amusement. Somehow, paired with a smile which is almost void of sadness, those words feel more genuine than usual.

Although the joy given by this is as fleeting as autumn’s leaves, for Ingrid’s heart is quick to ache again, wondering if Sylvan is simply wishing to bask in the company of the only childhood friend he has left.

  
  


* * *

Their stay at Garreg Mach brings about a mixture of emotions. As fatigue hits Ingrid full force and she finds herself far more sluggish than usual, it’s clear that she has needed time to slow down. Four months since Felix’s death and three since Dimitri’s … She realises that she hasn’t actually stopped for some time. Not as much as she needs to.

“I used to scold Felix over this,” she says to Sylvain. Wind blows past her face, chilly at the height of the third floor; her eyes take in the view of the sky above the sky terrace, greyed by clouds. “I know you did as well, in your own way. He’d have times where he just never seemed to slow down. Always training, fighting … It wasn’t always the best for him.”

“And now we’re here, doing something similar.” Sylvain’s head is lifted to this cloudy sky, eyes closing. “Fighting and fighting, because there’s not much else we’ve been able to do to process everything we feel.”

Ingrid nods. “I can sort of understand him now, though I still know our situations differ in some ways. There must have been so many things going through his mind. So many emotions, feelings of inferiority in comparison to Glenn. That sword in his hand could have very well been the only thing he had pride in, and I,” her voice cracks, becoming weaker, quieter, “I-I never truly questioned him about why he felt like that. I only ever lectured him when he overworked himself. And now he’s gone, and I’ll never be able to …”

She blinks, sending tears down her face. And everything seems to crash down on her.

The following motions are a blur. How her face buries in her hands, shoulders shaking from her sobs. Convulsive, loud sobs, completely different to her silent crying at Dimitri’s funeral. An arm wraps around her, guiding her over to the set of stairs in the Star Terrace to sit down. She’s in both of Sylvain’s arms the moment she does so.

“I don’t know what to do now,” she gasps out through her tears. “I can’t see a future without either of them in it. Everything we fought for, it—it wasn’t just about survival, it was about creating a world we could all live in. Together. And now—”

Sylvain hushes in her ear. A hand runs through her hair, urging her to calm down. Her head finds his shoulder, wondering how he can feel so warm even now, guilty that she gets to bask in this whilst the dead cannot. Those arms, always so strong, so safe, are here for her and her alone, and she cannot bear the guilt that brings.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Ingrid continues, unable to stop now she’s started. “That sword driving through Felix, the two of us too far away to do _anything._ Edelgard and Dimitri, and how he was in my arms, _smiling_ despite it all.” Hands grip onto Sylvain’s shirt. The material creases between her fingers. “I had nightmares about them dying, but I never … I never …”

Her words drift away. And still, Sylvain continues to hold her, giving her murmured words she cannot fully comprehend. What she _can_ process is how he gently rocks her. It’s almost like how she expects one would comfort a child, a comfort she has never known personally.

She calms slightly and steadily, at last able to listen to his words.

“It’s like we’re building this bright and positive future, only to not be able to imagine living in it without them.”

Ingrid nods. Her grip loosens in near defeat. “I don’t know what there is to even build, now they’re not here anymore.”

“We have to focus on what we _can_ build for ourselves.” By now, Sylvain’s voice is choked by his own tears. “It seems impossible, but … we have our own lives to lead. Our own goals, things we still want to do. I know it’s difficult, as so many of those things involved _them,_ but I don’t think they’d want us to not live our lives because they’re not here anymore.”

Ingrid shakes her head. She inhales a large gulp of air, bringing herself up from Sylvain’s shoulder. Suddenly embarrassed by how flushed and tearful she must be, she turns away from Sylvain to dab at her face with a handkerchief taken from her pocket.

“I suppose I feel guilty, over having life when they don’t,” she says.

“Yeah. Me too. But I don’t think we should be. They’d probably lecture us for that.”

Despite everything, she manages a shaky smile. “You’re right.” She pauses, eyes fixed on the handkerchief in her hands. “I don’t know how long it’s going to take to heal. I think about them each and every day. But … but I think I need to start thinking about what _is_ in my control. And start putting focus in my own life, not the future for everyone alone.”

“And what will you start with?”

Ingrid suspects he already knows the answer; he is used to understanding her after how long they have known each other. And the words she gives are instant. “My father. I can’t change that overnight, either. But I think I need to make the first step to speaking with him since the war.”

A hand squeezes her shoulder. “Do you want me to come with you?”

She shakes her head. “As much as I appreciate it, I think it’s something I need to do alone for now. Besides, I’m sure you have your own family to deal with.”

Sylvain hums. “Yeah. You know what my own father is like. Suppose it’s the norm for all of us nobles in Faerghus, huh? Hopefully someday, it’ll be different. I know I want to be different myself. Better.”

Ingrid manages a smile. To her, Sylvain has already become a far greater man than he once was, although like everyone, there is still room on the horizon for growth. “I look forward to seeing it. And I wish to do better myself."

He is silent for a moment, processing his thoughts, before finally saying, “One step at a time, for both of us. We’ll get there one day.”

She cannot help but add the word ‘hopefully’ in her mind. After all, she isn’t sure how this will be guaranteed. There is simply so much misery to bear, so many aspects of her future she cannot see herself celebrating. Not without Glenn, without Felix, Dimitri.

But she can at least put a single foot forward and try. Never will she nor Sylvain stop trying, and perhaps that is the first flicker of hope for them.


	2. Blossoming Emotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though Ingrid's struggles with her father only persist, she finds light in her returning feelings for Sylvain.

A shaky breath escapes Ingrid’s lips. In, out, as she and her friends have always told each other. They have spent years learning how to keep each other stable. Holding hands and soft, murmured words. Though there were some who dealt with the war better than others, everyone had their moments when they would break down. It could have been from watching an old friend die on the battlefield, or simply being overwhelmed by the chaos that ensued constantly.

Today, she is alone. She told Sylvain that this is to fall on her shoulders. A part of her regrets this decision, wishing she had someone here to guide her. She isn’t sure if she’d have more or less resolve if this was the case. Either way, it has taken her a couple of weeks to brace herself for this. No amount of speaking to herself in the mirror is going to help her anymore. This situation is so unpredictable, she cannot rehearse for it; she can only speculate what might happen, and with all she knows about her father, she isn't hopeful.

Ingrid jumps slightly over the door opening. Her father enters with someone closing the door after him, for he holds a cup of tea in either hand. Tension in the air thickens. Ingrid imagines this is the case, at least, although perhaps she is merely afraid enough for her mind to conjure emotions that aren’t actually there in reality.

“Thank you for taking time to speak to me,” says her father. “It has been some time since you were home.”

“Yes. You are right.” Though Ingrid still resides in Galatea territory, she does not do as such in the same manor as her father—not at the moment, at least. She wishes she was brave enough to live in the same home as him. Her resolve and determination to live as her authentic self would seem stronger, that way. But she was made far too anxious and uncomfortable in her own home to consider this for a moment longer.

“Despite everything, it is good to see you.” The man sits on an armchair by a coffee table; meanwhile, Ingrid is hunched over slightly at the edge of the sofa placed on the other side. “How have you been? Reading your letters has allowed me to see all you are doing for our country. The entire continent, even.”

These words encourage Ingrid to sit up straighter; her hard work, after all, is something she can take pride in no matter what. There is nothing her father can say which goes against the effort she makes. “Yes, I have been incredibly busy. All that has to be done back home, the journeys to Garreg Mach, battles … Honestly, I am run rather rampant, but it’s more than worth it. I would feel rather lost without it all.”

“Quite so.” His voice quietens, pain reflected in his eyes, and the same sensation hits Ingrid’s own heart. She and Sylvain are not the only people to be affected by the deaths of two childhood friends. Not for one second. Despite all the problems her father may have, he cannot ignore the close bonds Ingrid had with Dimitri and Felix.

It'd be impossible to not see the beauty in four friends who met through nobility, with a shared love equal to soulmates. Ingrid, forever the voice of reason, whilst Dimitri had never been sure himself on how to control the mischievous duo of Sylvain and Felix. In fact, Ingrid can recall times her parents would play with the four of them, and it grants her a little hope that her father does indeed love her, the same way he did back then.

“The company I have during all of this helps a lot, too,” she adds, wanting to hurry on from the topic which burdens her constantly. “I’m not the only one working hard. Sylvain and I have been doing lots together.”

“Ah Sylvain, yes. I have heard of all he has done as well. The two of you do make an admirable team.” He pauses, before he asks, “Are you interested in him?”

She almost chokes on her drink, teacup pressed against her lips. “I—pardon?”

“I apologise if that seemed blunt. Getting my head around … how you identify, has been rather difficult, and I do recall that you are attracted to men despite everything.”

 _Despite everything._ Ingrid can feel her jaw clench, trying to keep her voice calm as she says, “I am straight, if that is what you are referring to.”

“I do have to admit that it does confuse me.” Goddess, he would do well to shut his mouth on a topic he does not understand. “You were born male, and you are attracted to men, so I would suspect you are—”

“I am not gay.” Her voice has risen a little, all her anxiety aside. It appears as though frustrations have been quick to take over. “I’m a woman who is attracted to men alone. Therefore, I am straight. Although I never did mention that I was attracted to Sylvain.” She pauses, trying to push away the nagging emotions in her chest, for she cannot truly process them. Not now, when she and her father are hardly talking about her potential romantic interests in a positive light. “I have explained this many times.”

“Yes, you have tried to. You had a similar situation with your fiancé, before they died. I simply struggle to understand the concept.” Her father pauses, before he noticeably looks a little closer at her. “Although I have to admit, I cannot tell the difference now.”

She feels her hands begin to shake. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Now, I don’t mean anything by that. It’s simply …” He lets out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Surely you must understand how hard it is for me?”

“Hard it is for _you_ ,” Ingrid repeats, holding back the urge to let out a humourless laugh.

“I grew up with a son for a long time. And you know that I had such high expectations of you. You were supposed to marry the Fraldarius … child, before the engagement was called off after they decided they were not a girl after all. I decided to shrug this off, knowing that there was still plenty of time for you to find a suitable woman to marry and to have children with. Before I knew it,” he gestures his hand towards her, “you confess to me that you believe you are not a boy after all. You have to understand how difficult it is, having this path for you put into place, only for you to throw it back in my face.”

“I never asked you to make those plans for me!” Ingrid breathes in after the exclamation, trying to keep her voice calm. She isn’t certain if she wishes to cry or shout—perhaps both. “That was purely your own decision, because you care more about the family line than the people as individuals. _I_ never said I wanted to marry and have however many children.”

“No, but as a nobleman, that was— _is_ _—_ your duty. Well, before you went ahead and did those medical things to yourself. Even if you were attracted to women after all, with how you appear is just—” He breathes out; apparently, Ingrid is not the only one struggling to contain herself. “It’s a peculiar situation. Because you look and sound like a woman, but biologically—”

“My sex doesn’t matter,” she cuts him off. She blinks, and again, trying to force back the tears in her eyes. These are words she has heard before, but somehow, they dig beneath her skin like knives when given to her now. Is it necessary for him to do this today, when she is still with a heart weighed down by grief, and she’s doing her best to build a future for everyone? “I am still attracted to others. I can marry a man, adopt children with him. I can still build a family.”

Her father sighs. _Exasperated,_ as though this suggestion is an idiotic one to make. “Theoretically, one might deem that to be a family. But it would not be the same as you having your own children, through your own genes with a woman, like you would if you had simply stayed a boy.”

“So you’re also against adoption? That hardly comes as a surprise.”

His mouth opens, closes again, and he shakes his head. At last, a little guilt appears in his eyes, although it is far too late for such things. “I did not mean that. I was referring to your Crest, and the expectations you have as someone who bears the name of Galatea. Adopting once having your own child who bears your Crest is different. But to simply do that from the start is … I have to say that this is not what I imagined from you.”

Ingrid closes her eyes, letting out a deep breath. It hurts her chest to even breathe. A lump is in her throat, threatening tears, although the last thing she wants to do is let him see her cry.

She gets to her feet. “Then I suppose if I am this much of a disappointment, you might as well disown me now.”

He stares and stares at her, processing her words with widened eyes, before shaking his head. “No, that is not what I—no matter what, you are my child. I would never want to disown you.”

“Even if being transgender hurts the family name?” She is no longer able to stop a tear from trickling down her cheek. “Even as you refuse to refer to me by my name and use my pronouns? Everything shows me that you don’t respect me enough to consider me as your daughter.”

“I do consider you … Well, yes, I struggle to perceive you as my daughter. But I do not want you to no longer be a part of my family.” He rises to his own feet, folding his arms. “I am simply disappointed over the path you have taken, and how much you refuse to respect how I feel about this.”

Her mouth opens, although her adrenaline has finally run dry; temporary anger is instead replaced with disappointment, sadness, alongside the persistent thought that she will never be good enough for her father. She wishes she could confront him fully. She wishes she could shoot down everything he has said with facts, explain why her existence is as valid as any.

But she is tired of proving to others that she deserves to live her life as she pleases, just like anyone else does. The only wish she has is to be treated the same, and she cannot even have this. And he won’t listen. He never does.

So what she does instead is simply nod, walk past him and open the door. He doesn’t say anything. Not even as the door begins to close, clicking shut behind her.

Her head falls back against the cool wood. Finally, she allows more than a single tear to fall, wondering how different this would be should she have been born differently. Would he treat her far better? Would she still face harsh expectations? She cannot know. She cannot know anything, except how betrayed she feels.

One day, it might be best to cut ties. But for now, she has to focus on her duty, and building what is possible for herself.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Something which has always helped Ingrid is the support she receives from her chosen family, not that by blood.

It’s not as though everyone she has met has been accepting of her. Far from it. Having same gender attraction is difficult enough as a noble, especially in the kingdom—she still remembers the shaking in Felix’s hands as he came out to his friends himself. Being transgender, however … One can overlook a person’s attraction more easily than they can with gender identity, and the physical changes which often come with it.

It’s difficult, more than she can say. But she is at least not alone. Her friends have always loved her unconditionally. At the age of sixteen, Ingrid remembers how she was panicking further and further. The pieces of her identity were coming together, realising she feels the same as Glenn had when he was alive.

It was terrifying. Two choices were given to her: change her life to fit how she feels and risk the backlash, or hide who she was and attend Garreg Mach without transitioning. She decided the latter was the worst for her. Every mention of her deadname, of the pronouns she did not want to hear, were stabbing at her heart over and over.

She didn’t want to continue that life. Attending the monastery could grant her the opportunity to live in a way she couldn’t back home, for she naturally had not been supportive there. Though he had at least not been violent or lashed out completely, he was nowhere near like how her friends were.

They had been the stark opposite.

“ _We love you all the same,”_ was Sylvain’s response.

“ _So you prefer the name Ingrid?”_ Dimitri had said. “ _Right, if I ever get this wrong, please tell me immediately.”_

And at last, Felix, who perhaps helped the most out of the three during this time, “ _Why would I care?”_ he said, shrugging. “ _Glenn was the same._

Despite him reacting in this off-handed way, and how he was in his third year of being cold after Glenn’s death, he still helped. He was the one who took her to Rodrigue and explained her situation. Rodrigue, having been through all of this before, took Ingrid to buy some new clothes, speak to the monastery and see if _his_ approval was enough for her to start hormone potions.

It hadn’t been, and Ingrid found the first several months of her time at the monastery a struggle, knowing once she turned eighteen, she finally didn’t need her father’s permission in order to start transitioning medically. But it was still far, far better with the support of her friends and the professors at Garreg Mach as well.

As annoyed as Ingrid had always been over Sylvain’s constant skirt-chasing, the caring, warm side of him never left. Not for a single moment. He always wanted to learn more in order to treat Ingrid in the way she deserves, standing up for her when she received abuse from those less accepting at the monastery.

There was always more than meets the eye. Perhaps it’s no wonder that at some point in her life, she developed what she can only call a crush on him, which only became more obvious when all the Blue Lions reunited at the monastery five years later. But Sylvain had his own questioning to deal with, and it was obvious that his eyes, back then, had been on Felix.

It was fine. It truly was. Sylvain did enough for her even without the two coming together romantically, and like most school crushes, Ingrid believed hers faded away, unlike the bond with Sylvain that remained.

Several months have transpired now since the war ended. She and Sylvain have met frequently, and every time, Ingrid feels hesitant to mention her father, only being brief when Sylvain asks. One day, however, as the two are sitting together in Gautier territory, she finally brings it up.

“I never mentioned it fully, away from how he still doesn’t accept it,” she says. “Specifically, however, he said all the usual stuff. He perceives my appearance as a woman, but with everything else, he cannot get his head around it. I think he’s dwelling on how I won’t ever marry a woman and have a family with her.”

“Typical noble nonsense with him, I guess,” says Sylvain, frowning. “There is more to you than what you can provide for him in this sense. You know that, right?”

Ingrid hums, her gaze on the hands in her lap. “I … yes. I guess so. It’s simply difficult, because I remember how my childhood had been, all dressed up in formal garb as I met with potential brides to marry, up until Glenn came along.” She lets out a chuckle, which is far from amused. “Sometimes I wonder what could have happened with the two of us, so long as he stayed.”

“I’ve thought the same before now, as well,” says Sylvain, his voice quiet. “But he is not the only person who would accept you. We do as well, no matter what your father says, and you’ve already come so far.”

“What if it isn’t far enough?”

She blinks as a hand takes her own. It’s brought towards Sylvain, who encases it in both of his hands, a smile stretched across his face.

“You make a lot of people around you happy,” he says. “So, in my eyes, that is definitely enough.”

He gives her hand a squeeze. Something flickers inside her, as gentle and fluttery as butterfly wings, and it only takes a moment for her to understand that there are some emotions which never quite left her.

“Thank you.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “You make people happy, too.”

His smile grows, almost sheepish, and her heart skips a beat. Perhaps she truly does have feelings for him. It’s almost amusing, how she can still feel this way even after so much time has passed.

It’s not something she can embrace. She is hardly someone who would fit into the box of who Sylvain would like. But she wonders if that truly matters, when even if she cannot be with him, he will still be by her side forever. That much is obvious.

  
  


* * *

  
  


There are some days where, like those who are not mourning the loss of close childhood friends, Ingrid can find herself basking in the same peace which has arrived after the war. It feels as though life hasn’t fully stopped, even now she has more time to herself. So a moment like this is both unusual and welcome.

Dorothea smiles at her once her teacup is filled. “Thank you, Ingrid. It smells wonderful.”

“I’ve definitely been getting better at this,” says Ingrid, settling down next to Dorothea with her own cup. “It’s weird how we can have time for relaxing properly, now.”

“I agree. I still find it strange that I have so much time to put into my singing.” Dorothea takes a sip of her tea, her eyebrows furrowing. “Sometimes, I dwell on how I might not even be here right now, if Byleth hadn’t recruited me at the academy. I’m glad I never had to fight you, even if I …”

Her words drift off. A pang of pain reaches Ingrid’s chest, her hand reaching out to give Dorothea’s knee a squeeze. Ingrid had found it difficult enough to take the lives of those she once considered friends; she imagines it’s even harder for Dorothea, who watched those she was once close to die. “You deserve to live, even if not everyone survived. You only did what you had to.”

Dorothea nods, letting out a deep breath. “You’re right. I simply don’t think these emotions will ever leave me, not fully.” She places down her teacup, adding, “But that is enough about me. How are _you,_ Ingrid? Did you manage to speak to your father?”

Ingrid gives her an overview and, by the end of it, anger has reached Dorothea’s eyes. She is someone else who has always supported Ingrid, telling her to live as her authentic self. Sometimes Ingrid wonders how she would have turned out without her.

“Ugh, what a disgrace,” says Dorothea. “I bet he feels _so_ pleased with himself that he is at least not disowning you. Ha! No one avoids the bare minimum amount of respect for my Ingrid, and thinks that’s okay.”

“I mean, I can’t say I fully blame him,” Ingrid admits, gaze dropping to her teacup. “He was raised with these views, and it’s difficult to break out of that. Look at me. I was the same, with how I viewed the people of Duscur. I held such horrible opinions of them because of how I was raised.”

“Yes, but the difference between you and him is that you have grown, and are still improving yourself and learning more to fight that ignorance. Your father, on the other hand, is ignoring _everything_ you try to teach him. People can put blame on how they were raised all they like. But the only thing that matters in the end is how someone overcomes that.”

Silence falls as Ingrid lets this sink in. She has to agree, which is why she has been frustrated with her father at all. Again and again, she has tried to reason with him, to reach some sort of understanding where he can at least _try_ and see why she has chosen to accept who she is. But he is simply too blinded by tradition and ignorance to do as such.

It’s not so much his lack of understanding she hates. _She_ hadn’t understood much either, only able to put a name to how she feels because Glenn was the same. It’s simply how her father refuses to improve on this.

“Thank you, Dorothea,” says Ingrid at last, placing her teacup down on a coaster. “You’re right. It’s difficult, but I’m trying to accept that he might not ever accept me fully, or at the very least, he will take a long time to do so.”

“Unfortunately, that may be the case. Some nobles are too conservative to deviate away from their traditions. But you can still find happiness for yourself without him. I know how deeply you’re struggling after all that has happened, but you’ll make it one step at a time.”

A smile reaches Ingrid’s face. She extends her arms either side of her and, after placing her own teacup down, Dorothea smiles back and accepts the hug, her hand running down the back of Ingrid’s head.

“You’ll be the same, Dorothea,” says Ingrid. Her tone grows more teasing. “Especially with how much things have been going on between you and Petra.”

Dorothea backs away from the hug, eyes wide with surprise, although she soon chuckles, running her fingers through the hair hanging over her shoulder with a slight blush on her face. “I should have known you would notice. Things are … going well between us, yes. As seems to be the case with you and Sylvain as well.”

This time, it’s Ingrid’s turn to blush. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m _sure_ you don’t,” says Dorothea in a singsong voice, before laughing. “Sweetheart, it’s written all over your face. And I have an inkling that this is far from one-sided.”

“I don’t know,” says Ingrid, nails fidgeting. “He’s friendly with everyone, and I know that he had strong feelings for Felix, and Felix him.”

“I’m sure there is room in his heart to have feelings for someone else. And, coming from someone who is bisexual herself,” Dorothea winks, “Sylvain is definitely bi, _not_ gay. So no worries there.”

Ingrid smiles awkwardly. “Perhaps. Either way though, I’ll simply be happy knowing he’ll be there. He’s done a lot for me, as have you.”

“And you have done so with me.” Dorothea takes Ingrid’s hands into her own, giving them a squeeze. “No matter what happens, you have to live life for yourself now, not others. Keep on doing what makes _you_ happy. Okay?”

It seems almost impossible, when for so long, she has felt as though she exists for others. There to fulfil her father’s wishes, there to save lives, help them. But she knows it’s okay to help herself, too. She, like everyone else, deserves to finally take more time for herself.

After all she has endured, she’d even say she deserves it. Enough to respond with a simple, “Okay.”


	3. Increasing Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an unexpected event, Sylvain becomes the new Margrave, and Ingrid begins to build the courage needed to confess her feelings to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely comments so far, I truly appreciate them!
> 
> This is quite a long chapter (and the longest in the fic) being as I had to fit quite a lot in this one, but I do hope you enjoy it.

Time continues to pass. It always will, no matter who has been left behind. Nothing can be put on hold because of survivor’s guilt. They have to keep moving.

Sometimes, Ingrid is surprised over how fast this time flies by her. When Dimitri died and the war ended, she couldn’t see what would come after. All she could imagine was dragging herself through each day, not truly living, and having every second hurt. And it _does_ hurt. There are still times when she is paralysed by grief, when she sinks to the floor at the end of her bed and sobs uncontrollably, but she is not like this in every waking moment.

There has yet to be a day where these emotions don’t cling to her. She instead finds there is more to her days than mourning, although she _is_ learning to take time to do as such. She remembers how Felix had been over the deaths of his father and brother alike. In both cases, he suppressed his emotions, never truly taking the time needed to heal. She saw how much that damaged him and cannot allow the same to happen to herself, no matter how difficult it is to find a balance between processing grief and letting her mind focus on something else.

With passing time, events and changes also occur, and bonds continue to deepen as everyone slowly adjusts to a life that is far more peaceful than before.

Letters from Sylvain are rare, as to be expected. The two of them are able to visit each other more than they could during the first several years of war. But sometimes, they’re not quite able to close that distance between them, and communication between them is necessary.

This is not only due to their positions, but also because … he’s Sylvain, and Ingrid cannot imagine a life where the two are not in contact.

  
  


_My beautiful Ingrid,_

_Thank you for your last letter! I’m very glad to hear that you’re coping okay with the winter. This season in Faerghus can sure be something … I feel like up here in Gautier, we generally get through winter easier than you do, despite how it’s colder. We’re a bit more suited for the cold, I think. A lot more prepared for sure, and you know that we have a lot of spicy dishes up here to keep us warm. Granted, after attending Garreg Mach, I’ve realised that they use spices way better than a lot of people I know do._

_To answer your question, I think I’m doing all right. It’s still hard sometimes. I’ve noticed that mom is thriving, whereas my father isn’t quite as well. It’s probably not going to be long until I have the title of Margrave. Kind of scary, huh? But simultaneously, I think I’m ready. It feels good to be of use to people. And it’s another way to keep busy._

_Going back to what I mentioned about spicy food … Even when writing that, I ended up thinking of Felix. We used to love eating spicy dishes together, didn’t we? I remember that time in the dining hall, when we smothered our food in sauce to have a competition. Your face was hilarious! You were so offended by how we ‘ruined the food’ with too much spice. But yeah, it’s those little things that creep up on you, isn’t it? I think when you mourn someone, you don’t exactly think of everything about them at once. It’s a lot of smaller things combining together that make a person, and you dwell on each of those things one by one._

_Ah, I’m sorry, that was a lot for me to go on about, and I highly doubt that you want me talking about things which make you miserable. I guess conversations are just difficult when winter is going on! It’s not as though we can head out as much. Although you know what would be fun? Beating you at a snowball fight. Man, we have to see each other soon._

_I’ll happily await your next letter. I hope you’re well! Wrap up warm and take care of yourself._

_Much love,_

_Sylvain_

  
  


_Dear Sylvain,_

_Please don’t ever start your letter with ‘my beautiful Ingrid’ again. Although I’m surprised you didn’t flirt more than you did in your letter. Is the written form not fitting enough for your flirtatious ways? Either way, thank you for the gift you sent with your letter. Those spices from Sreng will definitely come in use; we’ve lacked our own._

_I completely understand what you mean about how it’s those little things about those you love, that you miss the most. The other day while I was training, I ended up breaking a lance—it was a pretty old one that I used a lot throughout the war. Even though so many of us have broken weapons, and it’s hardly something that a sole person does, it made me think of Dimitri. Do you remember how many weapons he got through during our time at the monastery? It was something else. And when I broke that lance, I smiled while thinking of that initially, before I quickly became far more down. Perhaps one day, we can dwell on things like this without the negative emotions as well. Although being able to do that will probably be far into the future yet._

_I know that you said those in Gautier deal well with the cold and have long since been used to it, but do still be careful. At the very least, we only have one moon after this before the spring arrives. That’ll be the first birthday of Felix’s since he passed away. I imagine it will be a tough day for us, but we can at least push through it with that hope on the horizon. I have always enjoyed spring … Hopefully, we can return to Garreg Mach and take care of the new foals that will be there, just as we used to._

_I agree that we should meet as soon as possible. Perhaps in a few weeks? I’m sure that my responsibilities will be eased enough for that. Honestly, I’ve had more spare time lately than I have had in a long while. It feels strange, and unfortunately leaves room for more time to think, although I have also been able to see the positive sides to it. It’s nice to be able to focus on myself and my hobbies, sometimes._

_I haven’t much to give back at the moment, considering supplies are slower at this time of year, but there were at least some possibilities I managed to find. It'd feel awful to not send you a gift in return, even if I'm not the best at making these things. Dorothea has been teaching me, as she says that I need a more relaxing hobby. She could very well be right. In comparison to your love for arts, I feel like I'm never quite off my feet. I would love to hear what you think, be it positive or negative._

_Take care of yourself!_

_Best wishes,_

_Ingrid_

  
  


_Dearest Ingrid,_

_I didn't flirt as much as you expected me to? Goddess, what is wrong with me? I'm going to lose my reputation … Ingrid, your hair is as beautiful as the early morning sun, and when I look into your eyes, I realise they are so alike to the ocean, I could drown when lost in their beauty._

_Thank you for the scarf! I know you value honesty, so … yeah, it's not exactly the best I've seen, BUT that didn't stop me being impressed by how good you are at this already! And the colours are great, too. I'd never expect crimson and navy to go together this well, but they actually do. It's really warm as well. Keep at it and you'll be a master before you know it!_

_Unfortunately, this letter isn't able to be as positive as I'd like it to be. I have to even admit that Felix's birthday is … well, I might even have a distraction from a day like that, considering something else is going to fall around that time._

_As you might have heard by now—or not, as I'm sending this quickly—my father has passed away. Heart failure, apparently. His health has been a bit rocky for years, I guess it's the stress, and it just built up. I'm okay though, don't worry. I'm not just saying that either. It's … well, I feel bad for saying it, but let's just say I don't have as many reasons to miss him as I did with Dimitri and Felix. Although my heart goes out to my mother. I rarely see her without red eyes._

_So yeah, his funeral will be held the same week as Felix's birthday. Kind of depressing, isn't it? Being distracted from a deceased loved one by someone else dying? Anyway, don't fret over me too much, or even attend the funeral for that matter. It's a pretty long journey to have in the winter. And really, I'm not just saying this as the guy who's known for shrugging off emotions. I really am okay, and I hope you are as well._

_Missing and adoring you,_

_Sylvain_

  
  


* * *

  
  


Ingrid chooses to travel up to Gautier territory without question. She doesn't necessarily believe Sylvain is lying about how he's faring with his father's death; much like Ingrid, he has never been close to his family by blood. Similarly to when Miklan had passed, the last thing Ingrid wants is for Sylvain to have to shoulder this alone regardless.

The bone-crushing hug she receives the moment Sylvain greets her from the carriage, how close he holds her and the desperation in his arms, tells her in an instant that she made the right choice.

"I thought you didn't mind if I come or not?" asks Ingrid, smiling as her arms wrap around Sylvain's neck in return.

"Well, no matter what I said before, I can't deny how much I've missed you." His hold on her loosens, and she feels the breath from a chuckle blow against her. "Sorry. I squeezed you half to death."

"No need to apologise. I've missed this as well."

Eventually, they let go of one another. After guiding the man reining the carriage on where to leave the horses, Sylvain gestures for Ingrid to follow him to his manor.

Ingrid never remembers a time when this household felt like home. She and Sylvain were always similar with how they felt far more welcomed in Dimitri and Felix's homes instead. Even so, the grand building feels even emptier, lifeless. The loss of Margrave Gautier weighs heavily on the servants they pass, who struggle to smile at their Lord.

"No matter the issues I've had with my father," says Sylvain, quiet enough so only Ingrid can hear him, "I can admit how respected he was by everyone here. It's a shock to most of us, but … well, somehow, I wasn't _completely_ surprised."

He opens the door to one of the household's lounges. Ingrid nods her thanks and heads inside; her throat is closed up, struggling to speak. None of the words she could say seem right. Not when Sylvain is so unusual in how he feels about this.

Perhaps that is where Ingrid should start, as she settles down on a sofa, tea already prepared on a coffee table nearby. "I'd like you to be honest with me, Sylvain," she says, "when I ask how you are."

A moment of silence falls. She can tell through the thoughtfulness in his eyes that he is searching for a truthful answer; perhaps, after everything that has happened, the two no longer wish to hide anything from each other.

"I was honest when I said I'm okay," Sylvain finally says. "But … just that. Okay, not necessarily fine. It's a lot to take in."

"He was your father, after all."

"Exactly. No matter our hardships, I still knew him my whole life. It feels strange that he'll no longer be there anymore. And I feel dreadful for my mother." He stares down at the tea in his hands, still without a single sip taken. "I guess above all else, I feel guilty."

"Guilty?" She hadn't expected that, of all words. "Hopefully not because you feel as though this is your fault."

He shakes his head immediately. "Nah. I helped him in any way I could, and I don't slack off from my duties anymore. I know I'm not the cause of this. It's—I don't think I'm sad enough. When I compare this to the pain last year, it's minimal. And I feel dreadful for it."

Ingrid shakes her head. She places her teacup on the coffee table, allowing one hand to fall on Sylvain's knee. "I can still see that it hurts you. And not being as affected as your mother isn't something to be ashamed over. He … wasn't the best father, to say the least, and the two of you weren't close at all."

"But that's simply how it is for most nobles."

"Perhaps so. But that doesn't invalidate your own experiences with it. To be honest, if my own father passed," her eyebrows furrow, "I think I would be similar. You're not speaking ill of him, nor mocking those who suffer from his death, so I believe you have done nothing wrong."

It takes Sylvain a moment to process this. Once he does so, a small smile reaches his face, and he places his hand over Ingrid's to squeeze it. Both motions cause warmth to flicker in her chest.

"Thank you for saying that," he says. "I appreciate it a lot. And I think you're right, really. It's not as though I'm _happy_ over his death, and I'm still sad. I guess it also hits hard because of … Well, it's yet another funeral to attend."

Ingrid has thought of the same; her visit to Gautier will be for several days, ready to attend the funeral two days after Felix's birthday. And though she of course sympathises with Sylvain's struggles, as well as others affected by the Margrave's death, she personally has little to no connection to the man himself.

To her, alongside how she needs to be here for Sylvain, her heart aches over attending another funeral so soon.

"We'll get through it," says Ingrid. "Together."

The hand on Ingrid's squeezes again. "That we will. And I feel as though I can pull through the responsibilities of being the Margrave too, if you're here with me."

"How are you dealing with that? Having such a responsibility fall on your shoulders, I mean."

Sylvain shrugs. When he reaches for the tea he has left on the coffee table, Ingrid feels a sense of loss over no longer having that contact again, whilst also being left with warmth. "It's a bit overwhelming, but I also just … Well, I expected it sooner or later, so it's not so bad. I guess all I can do now is simply whatever I can."

"You'll be fine. It's you, after all."

"Who are you, and what have you done with Ingrid?" Sylvain grins against the rim of his teacup. "I'd expect you to lecture me on being too lax about everything."

"If this was the old you, then yes, I would. But you have matured a lot, and you've always known when to grow serious. I have faith in you."

"Thank you." Sylvain places the cup back down. When he faces Ingrid, he doesn't quite seem to see her due to how deep in his thoughts he is. "I think I'm ready, actually. I want to change what the name of Gautier stands for. I don't want to have the next generation be treated less worthy because they are Crestless. If I have the opportunity to lead the Gautier name, I should do all I can to have a brighter future for it."

Ingrid has to remain silent for a moment. Her heart is beating a little faster, and she knows the reason why: she is reminded all over again why she has fallen for him, during moments like these.

She cannot look at that smile and listen to this genuine voice, and not be filled with anything but a desire to remain by his side, as long as time will allow.

Hopefully forever.

"You will achieve that," she says. "I know you will. And I'm here to help you every step of the way."

When his smile grows, she is reminded it is not only her emotions for Sylvain that she is dwelling on; he is inspiring, he's a beacon of hope, and Ingrid realises she has to go by his example.

No matter how her father sees her, she wants to lead a life to be proud of herself, and exceed all expectations. She'll prove how she can live herself as she simultaneously finds her place in the world.

She has so many things to thank Sylvain for, she realises, although perhaps thanks isn't necessary. Their hearts will never not understand each other.

  
  


* * *

The funeral had been bearable. More so than Ingrid imagined, for certain. Despite her lack of emotional connection to Sylvain’s father, she thought that the atmosphere of being in a funeral again would be far too much. It would have been, had she focused on her surroundings more than she had. She must have brought herself away from the moment when she was there.

Not to mention that all her focus had been on Sylvain and his mother. The latter was distraught, Sylvain constantly by her side throughout. He’s not exactly close to her either. In fact, growing up, Ingrid always noticed how Sylvain was closer to Rodrigue than his own parents. Still, the arm he held around his mother, the words he whispered to her, all seemed genuine even if Ingrid had not been able to hear them.

Sylvain has always been a caring person. Back on this day, it might have been that very nature which pushed him through supporting others. Unlike in the war, it wasn’t self destructive. Simply kindness and sympathy.

He pulled through as well, and in the months that have transpired since that day, he has been … The only word Ingrid can use to describe it is flourishing. Sylvain has never appeared more in his element than when he is able to be productive this way. Surprisingly, he appears to be a natural born leader, and he has settled into his role with near ease.

Not completely, of course. No one could take on such great responsibilities perfectly. But his newfound duties appear to be a part of him, and Ingrid admires him deeply for that.

Even now as their hearts ache as much as they do, Ingrid still sees him as a beacon of light. In fact, with a year now passing since Dimitri’s death, and so a little over a year since Felix, she is not certain at all if she would have been able to push through this as well without him.

The two currently stand in the hall of Garreg Mach monastery. The two still visit frequently even after all this time. It’s in the centre of Fódlan, after all, vital to the continent’s evolution. And, much simpler, it simply holds such strong memories for all of them, which is perhaps the reason why they have used this place to hold this event; a joint commemoration to Dimitri and Felix.

The latter is naturally not held to quite the same standards as Dimitri. Though the Fraldarius name, now tragically ended, has been famous for centuries, Felix had still not been at the same level as Dimitri in the hierarchy. However, Ingrid, Sylvain and others who know the importance Felix had in Dimitri’s life, insisted on it being in Felix’s name as well when a commemoration was only going to be held for the king.

Dimitri was as deeply hurt by Felix’s death as Sylvain and Ingrid had been. He had always held Felix close in his heart, even with how cold Felix had become after the Tragedy of Duscur. He would not want Felix to be forgotten as only the king is mourned. And so, in the eyes of Sylvain and Ingrid, this day would only seem right if they remember the close friend of the king as well.

“I often wish that Dimitri and Felix had more time to talk everything through,” says Ashe. His eyes, like the other Blue Lions standing together, are brimming with pain and loss. “Throughout the years the war took place, you could tell that the two were steadily getting closer. There was a period where Felix was almost cruel, yes, but after that, once Dimitri began to recover …”

“The two got closer again, yeah,” says Annette. “Felix even … for Dimitri, he … you know.”

They do. Ingrid’s eyes close briefly, which does nothing but emphasise the image within her mind: an enemy’s sword sending a fatal hit into Felix’s chest, as he stood in front of Dimitri to protect him.

“It took me a long time to process what happened,” says Dedue, voice quiet. “Felix always cared deeply for his friends. So much so that when we put our lives on the line to protect him, he would lash out and appear cold, all because he was frightened of us dying for him.”

“It’s ironic, in a sense,” says Sylvain. He chuckles without a hint of humour. “I remember how he came barging into the infirmary one day, furious with me for doing that. And after all that, he ended up passing away in the same way as his brother. Although it wasn’t the role of a knight which prompted him to do that.”

“He simply cared too deeply to let him go,” says Mercedes. A few quiet, murmured words of agreement follow.

Silence lingers before Ingrid speaks. “I also wish Dimitri had a chance to see the world he helped create. It seems cruel that he went through so much for that future, only to have it taken away. But simultaneously, I don’t think he’d want us to dwell on it like this. I think he’d want us to be thankful to him and make the most of our lives.”

Another silence, although this time, it feels slightly less heavy. Ingrid feels a sense of accomplishment—of pride, even—that her words can induce such a reaction, can grant hope to her dearest friends, when she has never considered herself the most positive person in their group to give that. Not compared to how others among them do the same.

“You are right,” says Mercedes. She smiles, and unlike most of the other smiles they have been bearing today, hers is genuine. “It’s difficult to be positive, when all we want is to see those we love again, and we wish for them to have the same futures that we do. But I also think that focusing on those positives is good for us and will help us to heal.”

Ingrid has been realising this herself, as time goes on; she cannot move on and heal without acknowledging that she cannot focus on the loss forever, nor if she obsesses over the guilt she has for living her life when they cannot.

She is learning that this is an unhealthy mindset to possess. There is nothing wrong with them living whilst others died. She is unsure when she will move on from this completely, but perhaps having this awareness at all is important.

Soon, she finds herself sitting on the bridge leading to the cathedral. She leans her back on the wall behind her, eyes fixed on the mid-afternoon sky. Despite the time of day, it’s dull and dark. It seems fitting for grey clouds to obscure all sun.

Her gaze shifts when she notices the figure to her side. Sylvain sits down next to her, and in an instant, she feels less alone in the world.

“I guess you’ve been thinking the same things that I have, since Mercedes said what she did,” he says. “About our future.”

Ingrid hums. “I have for some time, but it’s even more frequent now. How would they want me to live? Would they want me to move on and achieve happiness, or is that insulting their memory?” Her eyes find the floor in front of her, and she chuckles, much similar to Sylvain’s own humourless sound. “I know that it isn’t, in reality. There is nothing insulting about us obtaining a brighter future for ourselves. I think I’m simply working through this, even after all this time.”

“Yeah. Me too. And I don’t really know how long it’ll take.” Sylvain is silent for a moment, before he asks, slightly quieter, “Am I okay to hold you?”

His wish for consent brings gratitude to her chest, and she nods, welcoming the arm which wraps around her shoulders and brings her closer.

It’s so familiar by now, to be held like this. It happens frequently enough for her to feel this touch in her dreams. Somehow, every time it happens, she finds that her heart begins to race, just a little. Reminding her that there are still things to be excited over, however small.

“I think what we should be doing now,” she says, “is thinking about what we do next. Having something to focus on ahead, to keep going and reach higher—I don’t know about you, but I think that is what will keep helping us to push forward. Always having a dream to chase.”

“No, I agree completely.” Sylvain’s index finger traces gentle circles, around and around, on Ingrid’s upper arm. “I think it keeps us believing we have something we’re living for. It’s hard to do that without them, isn’t it? As we always had _them_ by our sides when we were looking forward to the future. We’re still adjusting to building futures without them.”

“Exactly. But … Maybe little by little, I’m having more to look forward to. It’s difficult to say so far.”

“What is it you’re thinking of right now, about the future?”

Ingrid is silent for a moment. When she has Dimitri and Felix on her mind, she automatically thinks of them again, and that future without them. But as she pushes them aside, even if guiltily, she realises there is more for her to think of. “I’m enjoying having my responsibilities, after the war,” says Ingrid, “and proving to my father that even if I am a woman after all, I can still achieve everything I want to. And … and there are other things that I previously didn’t want in my life, but now I think I’m ready for sometime in the future.”

_Like having someone to love,_ she thinks, a little heat concentrating in her cheeks when she thinks of the arm around her. Such a silly dream, to have _something_ happen between her and Sylvain, when she thought she had already accepted the reality that it is unlikely for the two to ever be together in this way.

Even so, it’s another thing to focus on other than grief.

“Yeah? I think the same.” Sylvain chuckles, and unlike earlier, there is humour in his voice, now. “At the moment, my own focus is simply on getting more adjusted to my role as Margrave. Which, I have to say, I’m doing marvellously at.”

“Is the word ‘modest’ even in your vocabulary?” asks Ingrid, smiling from amusement herself. “In all seriousness, however, I agree. It’s almost surprising, how natural it is for you.”

“Right? I thought I’d be tripping over my own feet.” There’s a pause, Ingrid given a moment to simply focus on the warmth of the body besides her, before Sylvain adds, “Although away from that, sometimes I … think about romance, actually.”

This catches her off guard. She straightens up from Sylvain, trying to keep any shock off her face. “You, romance?”

“I mean, yeah. The reason why I’ve always flitted between women, slept around a bit, is because—well, firstly, hello unhealthy coping mechanisms. But secondly, none of those women loved me for _me._ They only ever cared about my Crest, my family, my wealth. But these days, well,” Sylvain scratches the back of his head, a sheepish grin on his face, “I guess I’ve started thinking more and more about how it’d be to fall in love. Settle down with someone, even.”

“I’m a bit surprised. I wasn’t sure if that’d be on your list.” Ingrid’s heart only seems to race further, and she’s glad the two are no longer so close—she hates the idea of Sylvain somehow being able to feel that rapid heartbeat of hers. “But you have grown a lot, as I’ve said before. And I’m sure you’d find the perfect woman for you, so long as you don’t use the same tactics as you did back then.”

The grin she receives is enough. She’s not quite sure how anyone could look at that face, the beauty in his eyes, and not feel as though everything will be okay.

Although her rapidly beating heart sinks when she realises that when Sylvain says settle down, he likely describes the traditional future he can have with a cisgender woman, if he falls for a woman at all. Get married, have children without debating the methods needed for this, and if their marriage can even be recognised the way it should be.

Sylvain, after all he and Ingrid have endured, deserves that normality. In Ingrid’s eyes, though she would deem this cruel from anyone else’s mouth, deserves what she cannot give him.

And though she was once able to accept this, knowing she can enjoy Sylvain’s company no matter what, she is beginning to realise that she’s not quite able to bear the thought of him building a life with another woman, anymore.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Life seems to pick up slightly after this event. It’s still a struggle, but perhaps not each and every day anymore. Sometimes it’s hard to tell if it’s truly getting easier as time goes on, or if Ingrid simply adjusts to the pain. She supposes it doesn’t really matter as long as she is still living.

A couple of months after that day, Ingrid finds herself staying in Garreg Mach again for some time. By now, Byleth has settled into their role as Archbishop well; Seteth, their partner, does a great job by their side. Claude has also been doing all he can in his own role. Some changes are quick, some are far slower, but either way, everyone is moving forward.

Ingrid enjoys her time here at the monastery. Sometimes back home, she will stay in a smaller manor to that which her father lives in, simply to get away from him for a while. In reality, they often won’t even see each other, but living in the same walls as him can put her on edge—the same applies to the other house she goes to, for it still feels so close to him. Sometimes she wonders if she will ever feel comfortable living in her own territory again.

So she cherishes the time she spends in Garreg Mach to help others. There are a lot of painful memories here for certain, but happy ones too, and she feels far more at home here than she does in what is _supposed_ to be her home. She has friends here. Family, even. And she will never take that for granted anymore. Not since she learned how painful it is to lose them.

The reality, however, is that she cannot escape her father completely. He will always want to know what is happening with her, both for malicious intent but also simply to see how she is. Despite all his issues, Ingrid believes he might still love her, even if it’s not as his daughter.

Her hands tremble as she opens the letter addressed to her. So much so she tears it slightly when opening the envelope. She manages, however, sitting down on her bed as her eyes land on the writing.

  
  


_My child,_

  
  


Ingrid has to scoff. She’s not sure how she feels about him pointedly deciding to not use her name and making her sound like a child again, but she’s also glad he avoided using her deadname, at the very least.

  
  


_It has been a long time since we have seen each other. I am sorry that our last conversation ended in a way which clearly upset you. I’m trying to understand, although I must admit that I still cannot do so completely._

_Even so, I think about your future. I know that no words of mine will encourage you to de-transition and live life as a man again, and that you will not marry a woman as I thought you would. You are simply nearing your mid-twenties, which is the time when nobles especially should be considering settling down._

_I must admit that it pains me, for my first born child to not give me children by blood. Even so, the next best thing is for you to marry regardless, and have children by other means. At your age, you should already have a partner you want to settle down with._

_Regardless of how you will not live nor marry in the way I want you to, I still want you to find that family of your own. Please do give this a lot of thought, and contact me should you already have someone you are considering to marry._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Lord Galatea_

  
  


Ingrid surprises herself by reading the entire thing through, for the moment she has done so, her grip on the piece of paper has tightened, creasing between her fingers. There are tears in her eyes as well. Fury rather than sadness creates them.

The paper is crumpled into a ball and tossed to the side. She leans forward, trying to steady her breathing as she holds her head in her hands. How _dare_ he insinuate that this is what _he_ deserves, that Ingrid is bad enough by living life as herself, and is now even worse by not settling down? How _dare_ he think he has the audacity to lecture her on her future, try to control it, when he cannot even accept what that future will be like?

The sheer entitlement of it all. She may not want to ever marry. Perhaps, after living a life of oppression, of her father’s spite towards her, she might just want to live for herself. Children and marriage and everything in between—who is to say that is for her?

She breathes out, head lifted up from her hands. No, it’s not necessarily that she might not ever want to marry and raise a family. In fact, should she meet the right person, that seems like an enjoyable future for her. She simply wants it to be on _her_ terms. She wants to settle with who she wants, when she wants, after spending so many years of her life not being herself, all to live up to the expectations of others.

Perhaps she knows who, if she had to choose anyone, this would be with. She can _only_ imagine that single person, if anything. But it’s silly of her to think that far ahead. She cannot think of things like marriage and children when she, nor him, have never even made the first step. When Ingrid has not even told him how she feels.

She isn’t completely sure why, but her father’s entitlement encourages her. Not because she feels as though she owes him, or needs to hurry for his sake. Simply because he has made her think about what she _does_ want, and who she wants that with. How before anything so drastic and life changing, she would simply love to know what it would feel like to have Sylvain’s lips against hers.

Perhaps, above all else, it is spite which causes her to send a letter to Sylvain, asking him if he would be able to come visit Garreg Mach so the two of them can talk.

She swears her heart never stops racing whilst she’s waiting for a reply. When it finally arrives, telling her Sylvain will be leaving the moment he sends his letter, this heart fills with such deep joy she even gives the delivery owl far more treats than she usually does.

Of course, she has to still wait for the time it takes for Sylvain to get to Garreg Mach from his territory. Her nervous excitement must have been obvious when she told others about his arrival; Byleth instantly had a look in their eyes, telling Ingrid that they _know._

In retrospect, they are probably not the only one. Mercedes, who lives at Garreg Mach, has had certain smiles on her face as well when Ingrid mentions Sylvain, and she is not alone in reacting this way. Perhaps Ingrid’s feelings are more obvious than she wants them to be.

She supposes it _must_ be obvious, when her arms are thrown around Sylvain’s neck when he arrives, once again realising how deeply she has missed him.

“A guy could get used to this, you know,” he says as he hugs her back.

“I just missed you. It’s already been months.” She smiles as they part. “Thank you for heading all the way out here, especially with that autumn chill on its way.”

“Of course! You’re not the only one who has been missing me; I’ve missed you, too.” The two now walk through the marketplace at the base of the monastery. “I hope everything is okay, though. You’re fine, right?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I just … wanted to see you.”

“And speak to me, judging by what your letter said.”

She hums, trying to not look directly at his face. She’s not sure what expression he would have on it, and she doesn’t know if it’d comfort her or not. “Before that, though, let’s go grab a hearty meal. You must be starving after travels like that.”

And she is herself, she admits. Dwelling on such emotions is apparently exhausting.

The two practically race through their meal from this shared hunger, but not so much they cannot talk as well. Her nerves ease a little from their conversation. Catching up on what has happened, talking about the harvest occurring next month, Sylvain’s sights on his travels here—all those little things, small talk mostly, but Ingrid realises that small talk doesn’t exactly feel like that when it comes to him.

Once they are finished, they find themselves walking around the monastery, easing their stomachs after a good meal. “I swear this becomes easier and easier, the more time passes,” says Sylvain. “While we were here during the war, all I could dwell on sometimes was how much we lost, and all the people who left us. Last year, it was mostly about Dimitri and Felix. But little by little, I think I can appreciate this place again for what it is, and not focus so harshly on the memories.”

“Yes. It’s been like that for me as well.” The two walk over the bridge towards the cathedral, Ingrid’s eyes flicking to the skies surrounding them; she smiles when seeing a pegasus rider, nostalgic when recalling her own duties on sky watch. “Of course, nowhere near as much time has passed for us to heal. People don’t always understand how long it takes to push through grief. But it’s not so awful that I connect everything here to losing them, anymore.”

“Nor me. And sometimes, I can focus on happy memories too, without dwelling too harshly on how I’ve lost that. Simply … appreciate that it happened at all, I suppose.”

They walk around the monastery. Ingrid’s eyes land on the Goddess Tower, and she chuckles. “I remember you, on the night of the ball,” she said. “At one point you snuck in there, didn’t you?”

“Maybe.” Sylvain grins, before he hums in thought. “You’ve never been in there, right? I’m _sure_ no one would mind if we sneaked in now, too.”

“The fact that you explicitly state we’ll be sneaking in at all, _proves_ that you know there is something wrong with doing that.” She shakes her head in disbelief, before she cannot stop a smile breaking out on her face, as she says, “Fine, we might as well.”

This might be yet another sign she is being foolish with her feelings for Sylvain, almost as though she is a silly student with a crush, but she cannot deny that part of her reasoning for going there is because it seems fitting. Even if it somewhat heightens her nerves and would make any rejection feel a little worse, perhaps it would be nice to have destiny be put into place by the Goddess.

Over the bridge they go, through the door to the tower and up the stairs. The tower’s interior isn’t exactly impressive, but the overgrown plants twisting their way up the tower and this sense of being away from the entire world, safe and alone with the person next to her … No matter how this place may appear at a glance, she can already see it as somewhere special.

“So, you wanted to talk to me about something.”

A statement, not a question, once the two come to a stop. Ingrid swallows, her gaze flickering down to her feet. “I’m not sure where to begin.”

“I mean, it feels like we have all the time in the world in here,” says Sylvain. His voice is as reassuring as always, and Ingrid wonders how she ever believed she is not in love with this man. “So take as long as you need.”

Ingrid nods, exhaling a breath. Perhaps if she was a more blunt person, perhaps if she was _braver,_ she would be able to say it in one go, not drag it out with unnecessary words. The single confession feels as though it is far too frightening for her to say it in one go.

Instead, she starts with, “Father sent me a letter recently, asking about marriage and such.”

“Weirdly enough, that doesn’t surprise me,” says Sylvain, frowning. “Although I do find it strange, considering last time you properly spoke to him, he was going on about you not living as a man and marrying a woman.”

“Yes. But he’s starting to see that no matter what he says, I will not choose to live as male. So now he wants me to settle down, regardless of how I do it.”

Though Sylvain seems to be trying to keep himself calm, which Ingrid imagines is for her sake, there is no denying how she notices his jaw clench slightly. “What an asshole. He tries to dictate how you live your life with your identity, then the moment he sees he can’t do that, he tries to dictate your marriage instead?”

“I was thinking the exact same.” Ingrid exhales deeply. “I’m a bit calmer about it now, but it infuriated me so much, I came back to Garreg Mach. I needed time away from home.”

“I don’t blame you at all. It’s not fair to treat you this way.”

Ingrid hums. She finds herself not wanting to dwell on this for too long. She has already done so enough as it is. Her father has been given far too much of her time and stress, something he does not deserve, when he fails to give her the same back. No. Instead, she wants to focus on the single, positive outcome that has arisen from all of this.

She finds the courage to lick her lips and say, “But he did have me thinking about all of this. Finding someone who I have feelings for, I mean.”

Sylvain hums. Ingrid can sense him watching her, although her own eyes are fixed on the scenery, beyond the balcony of the Goddess tower. It’s anxiety-inducing enough to speak, never mind watch his face for any expressions he might have in response. “I think we spoke about that last time we were here, right? I was telling you I think I might want to explore romance. Properly, and not like how I did when I was a foolish kid in school.”

“You were an adult back then, too,” Ingrid says, smiling from amusement. “You can’t pull the ‘foolish kid’ thing on me.”

“Maybe not. But still.” A pause, before Sylvain asks, “So what exactly have you been thinking about?”

“W-well, that’s …” Ingrid crosses her arms over the railing, eyes cast on them. Her heart is pounding, fear and nerves alike escalating, but the flicker of determination, how there is just a slight essence of hope, is enough to push her to continue. “Sylvain, you’ve changed a lot over the years, so much so it almost astonishes me. But even while you were still that ‘foolish kid’, as you describe yourself as, you were always so … unbelievably kind, to everyone.”

“Really?” The word causes her to shift her gaze back to him, watching as he chuckles. “I screwed up a lot, and I know I hurt people sometimes, so I’m glad to hear you still think I was kind.”

“I won’t deny that you did mess up sometimes. But so did I, as did most in one way or another. Sure, you hurt certain people, but never those you loved. You’ve always looked out for us.” Ingrid’s eyes avert from Sylvain again. By now, she can feel warmth reach her face. “And I’ve always appreciated you for that. In fact, I … I had a bit of a crush on you, while we attended the monastery.”

“Oh, really?” To her surprise, Sylvain laughs, although it’s not mocking at all; he’s smiling genuinely at her. “So even you weren’t safe from my charms.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes, giving Sylvain a gentle shove. “It was only a crush, and I let it fade when I learned that you and Felix had something going on. At one point, I fell for Dimitri instead. But … well, looking back, I don’t know if what I felt for _you_ ever changed.” Her head bows, leaning back against the railing, and she feels the blush on her face deepen. “What I’m trying to say, Sylvain, is that I—I really do have feelings for you. Truly. And I find a hard time picturing myself becoming romantically involved with anyone else but you.”

The silence which falls isn’t quite deafening, for she knows it’s only there because Sylvain needs to process her words. Still, she does not dare to look at his face. She swallows instead, listening to the heartbeat in her ears and preparing for the worse; though she doubts Sylvain would ever reject her in an awful way, she knows that him letting her down, even if gently, is going to hurt.

She wants it to be over with as quickly as it started, if it has to end at all. But it doesn’t.

Sylvain’s fingers have reached to her to tuck blonde strands of hair behind her ear, and when she finally finds the courage to set her eyes back on him, she finds his cheeks have grown in saturation—from embarrassment or happiness, she cannot say, but she knows the smile on his face means it’s positive.

“I thought it’d never be possible,” he says, “that’d you like a screw-up like me back.”

“You’re not a screw-up, Sylvain.” Then she blinks, realising what she has said. “Wait—what?”

“I have feelings for you as well,” he says. His smile grows, and Ingrid hasn’t seen his eyes shine this brightly in a long time. “I can’t say how long, or how I even realised. I swear one day, when we were spending time together, I just … knew. It all became clear.”

“I can’t believe you …” Ingrid lets out a laugh, throat aching with the desire to cry—she isn’t sure how long it has been, since she has cried from joy instead. “And I’ve been working myself up to rejection, all this time.”

“As if I could ever reject a woman as beautiful as you.” Sylvain’s wink is good-natured, as is his smile, which is soon to soften. “Can I kiss you?”

She has never been so fast to say yes to something in her life. And when his lips meet hers, gentle and full of a warmth she has never experienced, she wonders how she has ever lived without this, how she could ever think to herself that she would be fine if the two of them remained friends instead.

Because now, as she leans her head against Sylvain’s shoulder, feels his lips press on the top of her head, she realises how much this has filled an empty space of loneliness in her heart—one that might have been there, regardless of what they had or hadn’t lost.


	4. Steps Towards the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain and Ingrid continue to heal as time goes by, marriage now an option on the horizon for them.

As time goes on with Sylvain and Ingrid’s relationship, the latter has realised how important it is to not lose the qualities of a past friendship as romance blossoms between them instead.

Ingrid swears that sometimes, it feels as though nothing has changed between them. Sylvain still teases her as much as he always does, Ingrid still gets bossy with him at times, and they bicker exactly as they have always done. They still care for each other just as much, proving that no matter how this might have come to be, Sylvain would have always had a special place in her life no matter what.

Now there is simply something else among what they have always had. Every time Sylvain holds her hand in his, she feels her heart pound. She swears it soars whenever the two kiss. Everything feels so new even as months pass them by, that she has begun to wonder if those feelings will ever settle. Perhaps when she loves someone, they’re not supposed to.

‘Love’ might be a strong word in itself to use for Sylvain. But when she sees his smile, hears his laughter and he pulls her through the darkest of times, she realises that she has possibly loved him for a long time already. Perhaps she always has.

It is, of course, not all smooth-sailing. Sylvain is a strong enough individual to stand his ground firmly, particularly because he never had much control on his life growing up. He wants to make his own happiness these days. But no matter how much he fights back against it, Ingrid knows that it’s a struggle for others to judge Sylvain for being with a transgender woman, questioning this and that about his sexuality, what it means for the future.

“ _I’m bisexual, but I’d be with her even if I wasn’t, because she’s a woman. As for kids_ _—_ _there are plenty of options there as well, but it’s none of your damn business whether we have them or not.”_

This is naturally something Ingrid has not yet thought about herself—not when she is adjusting to the two being in a relationship together. However, simply the notion that Sylvain doesn’t see her differently than other women warms her heart, and she realises she has made the right choice by being with him, no matter the struggles it causes.

Ingrid has had surprisingly little conflict on her end. She told her father, said he need not reply, and that is that. She’s still trying to stay away from _his_ home as much as possible, staying in another manor and venturing to Garreg Mach and the Gautier estate frequently.

Yet there is something mutual she and Sylvain share. Something which causes Ingrid to struggle over them dwelling deeper in their relationship, become more intimate, because of what lingers in her heart.

Something they have not dared to speak about properly since Dimitri and Felix passed away.

“I think we should talk about that for sure,” says Sylvain, when Ingrid brings this up one day. “There’s more we’ve had to move on from, after all, than them dying a year and a half ago.”

Ingrid nods. She sits next to Sylvain on his bed, her hand laid out between them; a smile appears on her face when he takes it into his own and she is reminded that yes, her emotions are true, no matter what she might have felt in the past.

“I did have feelings for Dimitri, as you have probably guessed,” says Ingrid. “And I—sometimes I do feel guilty that I am with you now instead of him. I’m sorry for saying that.”

Sylvain shakes his head, giving her hand a squeeze. “You don’t have to apologise. That is much different to still having feelings for someone who is still here. You never had the chance to embrace _those_ feelings properly, and that is bound to linger with you.”

“It does. As … as I’m sure Felix does with you.”

A deep breath escapes Sylvain’s lips. Pain etches in the expression on his face, and Ingrid feels a momentary pang of guilt, aware that she is the one to put it there. But she also knows that Sylvain has to talk about it. She knows that he, the same way as her, is being held back by emotions that never quite left.

“The two of us were only together for a short while,” he says. “But they were special moments of my life, for sure. And I think that makes me miss him even more than I would anyway. Which is obviously already a lot.”

“I know. And I want you to know that doesn’t make me jealous.” Ingrid shuffles closer to Sylvain, so their arms brush against each other’s. “Something I’ve had to learn since they died, is that we can’t keep focusing on the ‘what ifs’. That includes this as well. The reality is that they passed, we survived, and now we’ve found love in each other. I … I think rather than question that, we should accept it, and simply allow it to make us happy.”

A smile finally returns to Sylvain’s face. His hand, so large and warm and comforting, cups her cheek; her eyes close, and she knows by instinct that he is going to lean in and brush his lips against hers.

There it is again: that warm, fluttery emotion, like butterflies in her stomach, reminding her she is making all the right choices.

“Does kissing ever stop making you … nervous?” asks Ingrid once they part, chuckling softly. “It’s a good kind of nervous though, I mean. But I swear, it’s not stopped happening every time we kiss, yet.”

“To be honest, I don’t really get _very_ nervous over stuff like this. But I do to an extent. And, well,” Sylvain rubs the back of his neck, “everything does feel different when your feelings for someone are real. Definitely.”

“And they _are_ real, for me?”

She should know the answer already. To an extent, she does. Sometimes, insecurities still return to her mind, where she wonders if Sylvain is making the wrong choice by being with her. There are so many other people out there he could have. Ingrid still has a hard time remembering that she is someone who can give Sylvain something that no one else can. That she, despite any doubts she has, is special.

Perhaps it’s okay that she needs affirmation of this for now. That she needs Sylvain to answer her by gentle hands on her face, leading her back into a kiss, an action speaking far louder than words. But words, of course, are still given to each other.

Sylvain himself is someone who needs to hear those words at times. He’s not proud of his past—less the flirtatious nature itself, for that alone is not inherently wrong, but more the mistakes and pain he has caused others through it—and sometimes, fears this past will interfere with what the two have.

Similarly to how Ingrid sometimes worries that she is not good enough for Sylvain, that he can do far better than her, he too worries he is not enough for her. That he won’t ever be loved for who he is.

As time goes on, the two of them become more and more open to voicing their insecurities. Their healing over time allows them to see that this isn’t trivial after all. It’s taking time, as does everything, but they’re getting there.

And it’s during a quiet morning, when Ingrid is held in Sylvain’s arms as the two are cloaked in rays of early sunshine, a little over half a year into their relationship, when the words they share become stronger than they ever have before.

They come naturally to Ingrid, when she feels Sylvain press a gentle, loving kiss on a neck littered with marks from the night before: “I love you.”

For a moment, Sylvain seems startled, unsure of how to respond. And, for a split second, more tense. But it’s only temporary. He soon lifts his head, rests his forehead against hers, and says, “I love you too.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Ingrid has wondered lately if her father is beginning to see her relationship with Sylvain differently. It’s difficult to tell if this is the case sometimes. Perhaps she has simply grown used to this strange development in their relationship, where they are stuck in some kind of in between; Ingrid refuses to not live her life authentically, and her father, though tries to not deny her existence outright, still cannot properly accept it.

He hasn’t mentioned marriage for a while, either. Not until today, and this time, it feels somewhat different when he asks, “Do you and Sylvain have any plans yet, about marriage?”

The question would catch Ingrid off guard, if this wasn’t something her father hasn’t questioned many times in her life. She is in the library in search of a book for Sylvain, and to her unfortunate luck, her father is here as well.

Of course he would ask about her love life, rather than anything else. Not that Ingrid wishes to talk to him about any aspect of her life in general.

“Not yet,” she answers simply.

“So you do, at some point in the future?”

She has no answer for those words. Marriage is still something she has yet to properly consider. The thought has come to mind, of course, but more in the sense of how she sometimes questions her and Sylvain’s future in general, and how that will work out with her identity. She isn’t sure if she’s ever fully questioned marriage on its own.

“I’m not sure.” Ingrid turns to him, an emotionless smile on her face. “But it’s not as though you would see it as the marriage it is, would you? So I am not sure why you mind.”

It’s her father’s turn to be silent. His face is difficult to read. He’s confused perhaps, uncertain. It’s hard to say. “Well, from an appearance standpoint,” he finally says, “it would be silly to see it as anything but a man and a woman getting married.”

“It’d be the marriage between a man and woman, regardless of how I look.” The smile she has forced on her face, void of joy or not, vanishes completely. “The validity of my life doesn’t lie in whether I look like your preferred cisgendered woman or not. No matter my appearance, I’m allowed to live as I like. I’m sorry you cannot see that.”

She leaves the room quickly, because she is beginning to realise that _she_ doesn’t have to be the one to teach her father this. That is down to him. If he truly cares for her, cares for more than simply their image as a family, he would make the effort to learn to respect her on his own.

She is tired of being the one to teach him, and she doesn’t have to. Not for a moment.

Still, once again, the topic of what he asks her still weighs on her mind. She loves Sylvain. The times she utters that she loves him are not simply from obligation. Perhaps it’s the same thing as always: she needs to do this on her own terms, and perhaps it’s something she needs to speak to him about.

It’s a huge topic, however, even now everything is steadily growing more peaceful. A few months pass them by. Always committed to their duties, but ensuring to spend time with each other and their friends. Time seems to pass quicker the more their hearts heal.

Part of that is terrifying, perhaps because Ingrid would feel awful if she were to ever forget them, despite how she knows this will never happen. But it’s also allowing her to feel more free. And, by the time their first anniversary rolls around, she thinks she is finally ready to at least bring it up.

“I still can’t believe it’s been a year already.” says Sylvain. The two of them sit in the Gautier gardens, surrounded by evergreen. They have been here for so long, a picnic laid in front of them on the grass, that the previously bright blue sky above their heads has been replaced by evening. “Time sure does fly, huh? I haven’t ever been with someone for this long.”

“Who would have known that the philanderer could ever have a long-term relationship?”

“No one, including me. I suppose that proves I simply never had the right person. Excluding Felix, anyway.” He rests back on his hands, eyes staring up at the sky. Bathed in moonlight, the sight of him is practically enough to take Ingrid’s breath away. “I think we should be proud of ourselves. We’ve been building up fulfilling lives, found peace in each other despite everything.”

Ingrid hums. She reaches for Sylvain’s hand, taking it into her own. “I think so as well. I wouldn’t have done it without you, though, I don’t think.”

“Nor would I without you.” Sylvain lifts Ingrid’s hand to his mouth, placing a kiss onto the back of it. “And I don’t want anything to change.”

A silence follows these words. Though it’s content and peaceful, it brings Ingrid to the thoughts which commonly return to her mind, surrounding their future. She doesn’t want it to change, either. And though she knows that they do not have to prove anything to others, that they can live that future however they like, she wonders if she would like to do it all for them.

“Sylvain, can I ask you something?”

“Always.”

“Do you think about us getting married?”

A ball of anxiety swells over the pause, before she makes herself calm down. It’s a huge question. She wouldn’t expect anything but Sylvain having to think about it for a moment. And, judging by the expression in his eyes, any thoughts he currently has are not negative.

“I do,” he finally says. “Which surprises me. If long-term relationships were something I could never picture myself having, you can imagine how much that applies to marriage as well.”

“Is it … a positive thought, for you?”

He smiles. “Of course it is. What about for you? I imagine you’ve thought about it too, when you’re the one bringing it up like this.”

She nods, dropping her eyes from Sylvain’s to instead look at their intertwined hands. “I’ve been dwelling on it for a few months now. It’s not something I can decide on yet, not so soon, but I think eventually … I do want it as well. I think I just need more time.”

“Oh yeah, same. It’s only been a year after all, and I think both of us need more time to focus on ourselves. We’re still growing, after all. Even now.”

That is something Ingrid has almost been surprised by. The six years of war seemed to age all of them drastically. The Tragedy of Duscur had been one thing, where all of them had matured beyond their years, even more than what is common for nobles. Their innocence, however, still remained to some degree, and seemed to have been stolen by that war.

They had to age so much, not just physically, that Ingrid has sometimes wondered if there is still room for growth in them. She’s now realising that there is never a limit to this growth. Everyone around her influences it, everything that happens, and she’s unsure that she will ever stop growing in certain ways.

“Something I need to be clear about, is that I’m doing this by my own terms,” says Ingrid. “It’s like how it had been when I became a couple with you at all. I don’t want to marry you to seem as though I want to prove anything to my father, and show it is serious. I only want to marry you because it’s what _we_ want to do.”

“I feel the exact same way. Doing it because we love each other and personally want to, and not because of any expectations around us, right?” Sylvain glances at their hands, smiling more when bringing his eyes back to her face again. “We’ll get there, one step at a time. For now, I’m simply happy being with you”

She is the one to initiate their kiss after those words. Full of love, of appreciation, for how understanding he is. And she agrees with every single word. No matter the pain that still sometimes weighs down on their shoulders, nor the judgement from those less progressive, they will never stop fighting for their joy; that which they experience as individuals, and also together.

  
  


* * *

  
  


How smooth life has become is almost frightening. Ingrid has become so used to constant obstacles to overcome, fearing what is around the corner, that living in the motions and having almost everything go right is out of the ordinary.

She supposes that’s what happens, when one is so accustomed to war. They all adjusted to living each day knowing that they might die, this time. No matter how much they trained, how skilled they became, there was always this possibility. Dimitri, after all, had been unfathomably powerful. Felix had been immensely agile on his feet and the best swordsman she knew. They were both strong, but still, they were lost.

Even after years have passed, Ingrid wonders if she still has that part of her which struggles adjusting to peace, and knows that danger isn’t around every corner anymore. But overall, during this year and as its months pass, she is becoming more used to the idea that she can finally breathe at last.

Her heart aches less than before. The time between now and when her loved ones passed is not long enough for her to be fully mended—she won’t ever be as such. But it’s still enough for her and the loved ones who remain now to be healed more than before. Tears fall less often, if at all, and she finds herself looking forward to the future, little by little. It still makes her guilty sometimes. In those moments, however, she finds it helpful to imagine what Dimitri and Felix would say to her, if they knew how much she felt as though she couldn’t enjoy life if they didn’t have that chance.

The simple moments also matter. The peace after the war is a chance for them to relearn what once made them happy, and what the fighting might have put a damper on; this time, it’s Sylvain and Ingrid riding horses together out in nature, something that had once been to fight as opposed to simply enjoy themselves.

It’s now been two years, since they first became a couple. Sometimes it seems as though it has flashed by in the blink of an eye.

“It’s beautiful here,” says Ingrid, staring out at the stretches of land before them, following them as they ride up a slope. Sylvain’s ebony horse catches up to hers.

“Isn’t it? I swear that I’ve never realised how beautiful our country is before. Even with how cold it is up here.”

His mention of the temperatures brings them to Ingrid’s mind; she visibly shivers, causing Sylvain to chuckle fondly. His horse continues on, and Ingrid’s does the same, following him further up the slope.

“There’s supposed to be a really nice view up this way,” he continues. “Would have been easier to get up here by flying, though.”

“Don’t be lazy,” says Ingrid, letting out a laugh.

“I’m only kidding! It’s the journey that matters, right?”

It always has been, Ingrid thinks, as they urge their horses to speed up slightly. The higher they go, the more the cool Faerghus winds seem to chill Ingrid straight down to her bone, although it’s more than worth it when they reach the top of the hill and dismount their horses.

“Wow,” is all Ingrid can say at first, her eyes taking in every stretch of luscious green grass, the streams of water led from a distant waterfall, the faded out mountains so far away … Simply life, as far as the eye can see. “You weren’t lying when you said there’s a nice view up here.”

“I really, really wasn’t.” Sylvain dismounts his horse, smiling up at Ingrid. “Come on. Let’s get some rest and eat something.”

Ingrid has, of course, not forgotten the food they have brought with them—sandwiches and meat skewers, small cakes and scones, practically everything the two of them could need at this moment. They sit down on the grass together after filling water containers for the horses. The view is _almost_ enough to distract Ingrid from her food completely, although of course, she is hardly the type to be able to forget she has something delicious to eat.

“My back kind of hurts after all that,” says Sylvain, rubbing his lower back. “I’m already getting old.”

With a snort, Ingrid gives him a good-natured nudge of her foot. “You’re not. Mine is hurting, too—we haven’t really been riding much, since the war ended. We’re just not used to it.”

“That’s true. I think we definitely should do this more.” Sylvain grins. “The professor made me learn how to ride a wyvern and everything. Maybe we could even go flying together.”

This causes Ingrid’s eyes to shift to the view before them. “You know, that’s not a bad idea. I haven’t actually been flying on a pegasus for merely the joy of it in a long time. I did when I was a child, but … for years it was always for fighting. I’m still learning to get back into the mindset that I can do something for fun.”

“I understand. Hell, as I learned to fly _because_ of the war, my mind still connects it purely to battle. But hey, we have so much time ahead of us to spend on this. If you wanted to stay by my side that long at least.”

Her gaze drops back on him, and she smiles, shaking her head in mild disbelief. “Honestly, Sylvain. I’m sure you should know by now that I _do_ want us to stick together. Even if we never became a couple, I would still want us to never stop being friends.”

“And … as a couple?”

“It’s still the same, of course.”

A smile returns to Sylvain’s face, although it’s softer, greeted by an expression Ingrid cannot quite put her finger on. “That’s good. Listen, Ingrid. I can’t express how much I’m grateful for you being by my side. You’ve said a lot to me about how much I’ve helped you, but it’s the exact same thing back. Sometimes I wonder how I would have ever managed to pull through everything we’ve endured, had you not been by my side. And I’m realising that I never want you to leave it.”

“Nor do I.” As he was speaking, Sylvain’s voice had dropped in volume; Ingrid finds that her own voice matches his.

“That helps a lot, because … well, you’re more than welcome to ignore what I want to ask. If you’re not ready, be it that you aren’t now or you won’t ever be, that’s okay. I think I’d just regret not asking you of this, just in case you _would_ want to say yes.”

There is possibly a part of Ingrid who knows exactly what is coming. Even so, she still stares with eyes wide with surprise, uncertainty. She watches as Sylvain pulls something out of a bag tied around his hips. It’s exactly what Ingrid expects, but even so, she finds herself trembling slightly when she sees the little black box in Sylvain’s hands.

The two are already sitting on the grass together, meaning Sylvain can’t exactly drop to one knee; regardless, as he turns with the box facing her, revealing a diamond ring inside, she wonders if this is exactly what people dream of when they wish to be proposed to one day.

And in this instant, Ingrid realises she is ready. That this is what she has begun to dream of as well.

“Ingrid Brandl Galatea,” says Sylvain, his smile bearing his teeth. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes.” As soon as this single word escapes her lips, she blinks and sends a tear trickling down her face. “Of course I will.”

Sylvain hasn’t a chance, at first, to put the ring on her finger. She is too busy cupping his face with her hands, bringing him in for a kiss. The ring hovers in the air as his other hand is brought to her waist. Ingrid swears she feels a tear or two of his own.

There is still emotional healing to be done, and their fight for their own inner peace isn’t yet over. But together, with this newfound promise between them, obtaining that seems more possible each and every day.


	5. The Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain and Ingrid, little by little, realise that joy has found them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Due to my chronic illnesses and other responsibilities, I had to change around the order of this fic slightly and make it five chapters instead, meaning that this one covers a whole course of things which happen for them. I'm fond of how this progression came out though, and in the end, I think it's the most suitable.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

When Ingrid was younger, she could never imagine herself being romantically involved with someone, at least to the extent of planning to marry them.

At first, before she came to realise her gender, she thought it was because of her sexuality. Would she have ever been able to find the person she was looking for with this variable? As time passed and she realised she was, in fact, straight and had been a woman all along, those feelings became wrapped in her reality of being transgender instead.

Those feelings still follow her now; how she struggles to see that she can be loved as herself. But it was not this type of feeling alone that has caused her to wonder if a future relationship was something she would obtain. She simply never knew if she ever wanted that relationship after Glenn passed away. She wondered if she wanted to live life without being romantically involved after all.

It is, of course, fine to make that decision. She supports anyone who is either not attracted to anyone, or simply don’t want to feel weighed down by a relationship. But this hadn’t been her at first. Once she realised her gender especially, able to put a name to herself at the age of fourteen, that is when she became convinced she would never have a relationship with anyone if she is transgender.

She has voiced this to Sylvain several times on the course of their journey, and has debated it to herself. Why would he choose _her,_ when there are so many others he could choose instead? Back then, rather than put this on a singular person, it was on her mind as a whole. She wasn’t sure if she even wanted the stress of figuring out if this was the right choice for her.

Along the way, she might have believed she didn’t want a romantic partner, those feelings developing into denial of what she might actually end up having one day. Her father certainly never helped. For a long time, she might have been convinced that love wasn’t real. She was never told to prioritise finding someone to share happiness with. There was an expected pathway for her: marry, have children and continue on the family line.

It wasn’t about building a family to experience love and fulfilment. Perhaps this combined with everything else, thus surprising her when she had feelings for Dimitri and, later, also realised her love for Sylvain as well.

To now be in an engagement which prioritises joy, built of love and the two choosing each other instead of an easier option, Ingrid … Well, she still struggles to comprehend it at times. Whilst she is more joyful than she has been in a long time, she also cannot deny how she is overwhelmed.

Part of her still feels incomplete. As time goes on, she and Sylvain continuing to embrace their love, the details of this begin to unravel; things she has been questioning for a long time are receiving answers at last, arriving during the peace she and Sylvain have finally obtained for themselves.

“I think I’ve spoken to you a few times about surgery before,” says Ingrid one day, as the two are sitting together in their bedroom; a cup of tea is between her hands, Sylvain placing down his own, which he just finished drinking.

“A few times, but not in full detail, I don’t think.”

“That is probably because I wanted to work things out for myself first, before describing it to someone else.” Ingrid’s eyes land on the mug in her hands, watching the liquid; it’s more to gather her thoughts rather than avoid Sylvain’s eyes. She smiles when his hand rests on her thigh. “I’m more comfortable in myself more than ever, I would say. A lot of that is down to you. You’ve always been careful, but not overbearingly so, whenever this has come up.”

“I try to be,” says Sylvain, “and I never want to make you uncomfortable with that.”

“I appreciate it, truly. Whenever we’ve … you know, been intimate, I always appreciate you asking how I am on that day, and if there is anything you need to avoid or bear in mind. And you’ve fully accepted what I cannot do. But sometimes, it’s not quite enough.”

Sylvain hums in understanding. He knows this already, with how there are times Ingrid says no purely because of dysphoria. “So you’ve been questioning how to help that?”

Ingrid nods. She takes one last gulp of her tea, reaching over to place the mug down on a night-stand nearby. “Top surgery is one thing I know I don’t need. Estrogen helped me enough with my chest to be comfortable. But … well, I’ve decided that I would be more comfortable with myself if I had lower surgery instead.”

There’s no surprise on Sylvain’s face, nor any other reaction that Ingrid would deem as excessive. He simply nods, smiles, and says, “I know you’ve considered this for a while, and if that’s something you need, you know I’m happy to help you in any way I can. Do you have any plans in place for who you will see?”

“Linhardt,” is Ingrid’s immediate answer. “After leaving the Black Eagles and having to deal with war, he’s put a lot of his focus into medicine. It’s incredibly brave, considering how much he fears blood. And something he has especially wanted to focus on is assisting with medical transition.”

“Oh, I hadn’t realised. That’s wonderful. There really aren’t enough professionals on the matter in Fódlan, Faerghus especially.”

Ingrid hums in agreement. “Yes, it was lovely to hear. Manuela was actually the one who told me—I came into contact with her first, being as she was the one who assisted with hormones when I was at the monastery.” A deep breath escapes her lips, feeling her chest becoming relatively lighter. “Solidifying my plans aloud has helped me see that I truly need to go through with them.”

The hand on Ingrid's thigh squeezes it. "I want you to do whatever you need to be happy. And I know something like this might be nerve-wracking, but I'll be with you every step of the way. I promise."

She does not doubt those words for a moment. Her hands land on either side of Sylvain's face, her thumbs rubbing over his cheeks. "I need to focus on this before we get married, though. Is that okay?"

"Of course, Ingrid. Please put yourself first."

A smile breaks out on her face. She leans in, bringing their lips together. Not for the first time, she realises how lucky she is, and how she never wants to forget what it feels like to have Sylvain's lips against her own.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The process of everything is faster than Ingrid would have expected. As she contacts Linhardt again, she finds herself filled with an excitement that she hasn’t experienced since Sylvain proposed to her, though admittedly, this feels as though it’s on a grander scale.

It’s for _her._ It is something she has needed for a long time, since the war for certain, but she never had the chance to make room for surgery in that time. The recovery would be far too long during such a huge war, and she knew that her priority had to lie in fighting for everyone's lives.

Linhardt runs her through the process, she is told of every aspect of what is going to happen. Though nervousness naturally finds her—the closest she has ever had to surgery was a broken arm—it isn’t as large of a deal as she would have expected, when she knows that it is a necessary step towards her being completely happy as can be with herself.

“The magic is going to put you into a sleep,” says Linhardt. Ingrid’s eyes follow him, her lips maintaining steady breaths as she lays on her back. “You won’t feel anything during it, of course. It’ll simply be like falling asleep very quickly, and then you will wake up again after.”

Ingrid’s eyes flicker to Sylvain sitting by the bed, who smiles as he holds her hand, before her attention is on Linhardt again; she nods. “I imagine the pain is going to be horrendous when I wake up.”

“Well, it will certainly not be _painless,_ but you will still have magic there aiding the pain, so it could be much worse. In fact, you probably endured more agony in the war, if I’m honest. This will be nothing in comparison.”

“You’ll be fine, baby.” Ingrid meets Sylvain’s eyes again. She can trust those eyes, trust the surgeon about to change her life forever, and she is able to release a large exhale and nod.

The next thing she can recall is some kind of magic washing over her. It feels warm, tingles a little, and she finds her body relaxing far more than it has ever done before. The next moment, she finds herself coming to with far more pain than before, but a relief heavy on her chest even before she knows it was successful.

“Sylvain?” is the first word she murmurs, when her eyes slowly begin to open. The squeeze of her hand confirms his presence.

“It all went well, Ingrid.”

She opens her eyes as much as she is able to, when she is finally rising from the slumber that this magic put her in, and a smile stretches on her face when she finds Sylvain once again. It’s difficult to say anything coherent, nor is her mind completely clear, but she wakes with a sense of freedom.

It’s a choice she has only been able to make now the world is peaceful enough for it. Everything is far from perfect, but it’s certainly far, far more wonderful than it has ever been.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Though her father knows of her surgery, the last thing Ingrid wants is to recover in the same estate that he resides in. And so, once she is well enough to leave Linhardt’s place of work in Faerghus, she decides to head back to Gautier with Sylvain.

“Thank you,” were her parting words to Linhardt. “Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this has changed my life.”

“I do have an idea, yes.”

They were good-natured words, of course. The smile on his face said it all. It seems as though everyone around her, when she managed to avoid her father’s invasive questions, have all been joyful to see her new step in life.

She now rests in the bed she always shares with Sylvain, when she stays here with him. A hand rests on her stomach as her hand takes a glass of water from him.

“The recovery can be a bit rough at first,” she says, steadying the glass in her hand, “so I apologise if I end up relying on you too much.”

“I _want_ you to rely on me, Ingrid.” Sylvain slides onto the bed besides her, an arm wrapping around her shoulders. “I’ve relied on you enough times myself. That’s what we do, right? Mutually support each other?”

“That’s true.” Ingrid chuckles, her head leaning against Sylvain’s shoulder. “If anything, this gives me a chance to slow down for a little while, I suppose.”

“Goddess, yeah. Everything might be quieter these days, but you never want to stop being busy, do you?”

“Likewise with you. All the work you’ve been doing to make peace with Sreng, and everything else as well … I hope I won’t burden you too much, but even when I’m like this, I can help you in any way I can.”

“Don’t push yourself too much. Still, I very much appreciate it.” Sylvain brushes his lips against the side of Ingrid’s head. “Hey, I guess that’s another perk about all of this. You get to spend more time here with me than usual.”

In the moment, this seems to be the best possible thing she could currently experience. Soon, however, she realises that it means far more than short-lived happiness.

As Ingrid gets back on her feet little by little, and her recovery passes her by smoothly, she realises that there is more to staying with Sylvain longer than simply the enjoyment. She finds a home by his side. Though the Gautier estate had once been a place where she, or any of the other members of the four childhood friends, didn’t particularly feel welcome in, it has slowly been changing. Admittedly, a large part of that is the death of the previous margrave. But it’s also down to Sylvain himself.

He, exactly as he wanted to, has been changing the name of Gautier. He is allowing them to be respected for more than their protection of Faerghus. He seems cheerful living at home more and more as time goes on, and that joy is contagious.

It’s miles different to how Ingrid feels when she is back at her so-called home. Usually, nobles move in with their spouse once they marry, but it comes as no surprise when, one and a half years after Sylvain proposed to her, Ingrid makes the decision to move in with him at the Gautier estate whilst their wedding plans are being put into place.

She can still help the land she grew up in, but she knows that this is where she wants to be, that she can do the most good by being by Sylvain’s side. He, of course, welcomes her with open arms, and tells her that the more time he gets to spend with her, the better.

One day, perhaps after the wedding, she will truly cut ties with her father. But for now, as the two start working on the finer details of their wedding, she is happy to focus on this above all else.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Around two years have passed since Sylvain’s proposal. During that time, the two took more time to explore themselves. They will be all the more satisfied being together as a married couple, after all, when they feel more fulfilled as individuals.

Ingrid had found that after her surgery, such a major part of herself that she wanted to change first, her wish to marry Sylvain grew stronger than ever, perhaps even more so than it had been when he first proposed. And now, as she releases a breath from her lips and her eyes land on the high ceiling of Garreg Mach’s cathedral, she knows she is ready more than ever despite her nerves.

“Are you ready, Ingrid?”

Her eyes land on Mercedes besides her. Her dress is simple (“ _I would never want to take attention away from you!”_ ), but she has never looked more beautiful than ever, in Ingrid’s eyes. It’s almost as though Ingrid’s own radiance is washing over the other woman.

“Completely,” Ingrid responds. “Even though I’m a little nervous.”

Mercedes smiles, her fingers carefully putting a few strands of Ingrid’s hair in place; longer than years ago, it is pinned at the back of her head in an intricate bun, leaving room for the necklace settled over her collarbone. This leads onto a cocktail dress trailing down to her ankles. Never would she have seen herself in something like this, although she admits that it’s nice to wear something so lovely, just this once.

Even if she did have to say no to too much makeup. “Let us go,” says Mercedes, offering her arm out to Ingrid, who takes it.

A part of her heart is heavy that this is not her father. He had questioned her not long ago if he should attend the wedding. Ingrid had asked him a simple question: if he even wants to do so, and if he does, will he truly see her as his daughter getting married, or is he still clinging onto those conservative ideals he grew up with?

He couldn’t answer, and that was enough for Ingrid to tell him not to come at all.

But as she walks out into the cathedral—comprising only a small number of guests, all those she truly wants here—she realises that this is for the best, that she would rather not be holding onto the arm of anyone else than Mercedes. She’s not being handed over to Sylvain, after all. She is merely joining his side as they continue to build their future together.

Though she notices the smiles from her friends and cherishes each one, her eyes can soon focus nothing on the man standing by the altar. His long, crimson cloak reaches the floor, and he turns to greet her with a smile. A beard rather than stubble now lines his cheeks. There are so many memories in this very room of a time when Sylvain was younger, when Ingrid didn’t quite look at him how she does now, although she knows that she could have not had her life lead her anywhere better than this.

When Ingrid meets Sylvain's eyes, she sees that, like hers, they are watery with the threat of tears. It's of course from joy. The smile on his face expresses that much, stretching from ear to ear, as do the hands which take Ingrid's and give them a squeeze.

"You look beautiful," he whispers. Words spoken so many times before, but have never expressed more than in this moment.

Their eyes drift to Byleth standing by their side, waiting for them to begin. No one could have been better than the archbishop. No matter who they stand as today, Ingrid will always see them as her professor, the person who led their students with a warm heart and caring hands.

Neither Sylvain nor Ingrid have brought a script along with them. They speak imperfect words made perfect by how much they come from their hearts, and how much love they experience in this moment. Somewhere far above their heads could very well be their old best friends, now in their place by the Goddess' side; Ingrid hopes deeply that they watch her and Sylvain now.

As she leans in and kisses his lips, she realises that though Dimitri and Felix's deaths still bring her misery in her darkest moments, and sometimes even in joyful times when she wishes they were here, she realises that she's now without guilt. She and Sylvain, all these years later, have finally fought for a life where they can obtain their own happiness.

Ingrid likes to imagine her old friends would be proud. One day, the four of them could reunite, but for now, heartfelt and positive tears run down her cheeks as her arms wrap around Sylvain's neck.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The atmosphere of this room is familiar. Far from the forlorn comfort of nostalgia, but rather something much more bitter. As Ingrid looks at her father from across the living room, she is not filled with the same anxiety as she once had. She’s strong enough to have moved past this by now. Her heart, though it may still beat loudly in her chest, is determined rather than frightened.

If her father cannot see how much brighter her life is now she has built something which makes her joyful, then that is all on him. She doesn’t need to spend any more time trying to convince him.

“You’ll truly be remaining in Gautier territory permanently?”

“Yes. And I have no plans on combining it with Galatea’s.”

Her father exhales. “I always imagined your wife would come join our land.”

“Indeed you did.” Ingrid lifts the mug of tea in her hands to her lips calmly, taking a sip before speaking again. “I will still do all I can for this territory, you know that. I vow to do what I must for Faerghus. It’s simply for the best that I do this in a home where I feel welcomed.”

A silence falls on the pair. Once again, she drinks from the cup in her hands, almost surprised by how steady they are alongside her heart. But she has had many years to think all of this through. After seeing how easy it is to lose life, Ingrid knows she has to live hers to the fullest, especially now there is no guilt chaining her down.

“Do you plan on adopting children?” he eventually asks.

“Yes, we do. And I also plan on raising them with far more happiness than you have ever granted me.”

His eyes close momentarily. Perhaps it is an action caused by guilt, and Ingrid finds she could care less for such things. It’s far too late for him to turn back time and reverse all the damage he has caused her.

“I suppose you will not be comfortable letting me see them?”

“I’m glad you are aware. Perhaps one day, I might finally see that as something which you have earned. But the chances of this are slim, if you were not to make drastic changes on how you view the world.” Ingrid places her cup down on the coffee table. “You do not deserve to be in my life anymore, father. I have tried countless times to explain how I feel to you. I have no choice but to give you that ultimatum: make an effort to accept me, or lose yourself of your eldest child. It speaks volumes that this is not enough.”

“I _want_ to,” her father insists. “I truly do. I simply was not raised during a time where this was accepted, and I—”

“I could not care in the slightest on what you have to say, there.” Ingrid gets to her feet, giving her father a smile void of joy. Sometimes she wonders if any smiles she has given him _have_ been genuine. “I have tried being patient with you. I have done all I can to make this work, but it simply will not do so unless _you_ try, which you are clearly not. If you’re not willing to do that, then there is no reason for me to keep pushing myself to do the same. I do not want you in my life anymore. Not unless one day, you changed it completely.”

“That is your decision to make.” His voice is strained, much unlike hers, and she feels a sense of pride over the strength of her resolve.

“It is. This could very well be the last time I see you, father. Take care of yourself.”

With those words, Ingrid turns, walking towards the door. Her pace does not falter once. The only moment she slows down is to reach for the door handle, which is the moment her father has an opportunity to speak again.

“No matter what I have done or what has happened to our relationship, I want you to be happy.”

Ingrid chuckles lightly under her breath. “If you wanted me to be happy, it would have not come to this in the first place.”

With those words, she steps out into the hall and closes the door after her. She closes her eyes, breathes out, and is met with a lighter chest when they open again. A smile even manages to appear on her face.

She hasn’t lost anything, when there had been no bonds there to begin with. All she has done is give herself a stepping stone towards that brighter tomorrow she has claimed for herself. Today, she proved her strength, as well as reminded herself that family is not always determined by the blood running through veins.

Her heart has led her directly to true love. Now more than ever, she is thankful that she followed it.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Out here again, huh?”

Ingrid hums. Her green eyes are fixed on the sky above her, which sends rays of sunlight beaming down against her face as she leans against the railing around a balcony. These eyes close, a smile appearing on her face, as arms wrap around her from behind and lips press on the top of her head.

“It’s nice to come out here to reflect,” says Ingrid, “and I’m simply relieved that this day finally brings joy instead.”

Sylvain hums. He sways her gently from behind, resting his chin on top of her head. “Ten whole years since the war ended, huh? It feels like it was so long ago, now.”

“I agree.”

Silence falls for a moment, although it’s brimming with contentment; Ingrid isn’t sure of the last time a silence had existed for negative reasons. Sometimes, it’s simply enjoyable to bask in quietness with Sylvain, to simply feel his warmth and listen to his breaths, as the two of them allow their thoughts to wander.

“Ever wonder if they’re watching us?” asks Sylvain at last. Ingrid nods, her eyes still fixed on the sky as though she can meet their gaze.

“I think they’d want to watch us be happy at last. Although a part of me wonders if they would have preferred to move on, if reincarnation exists. Dimitri and Felix certainly don’t seem like the types to sit around and do nothing.”

Sylvain chuckles. “You might be right, even though I like the thought of them achieving eternal happiness in Heaven, too.”

Moments later, Ingrid turns around, bringing her lips to Sylvain’s. Soft, tender, everything their love has been all these years. She smiles at the way his beard tickles her face. It’s such a simple sensation that she will never quite stop enjoying, even if she had originally mocked Sylvain for growing out those hairs.

He takes her hand and leads her to the glass doors leading to the balcony. Almost immediately after these are closed behind them, there is a bang on the other side of the room and the sound of footsteps running inside. A head of blond hair, belonging to the tallest of three children, rushes inside and lightly slaps Sylvain’s lower arm.

“Tag!” the little boy shouts, laughing before racing out of the room again.

“Hey!” Sylvain shouts after him. “I’m gonna get you—”

Sylvain rushes out of the room as well, causing the two remaining girls in the bedroom to squeal. Identical in appearance, their hands intertwine, before their copper eyes land on their mother.

“Let’s go get them, mommy!” one exclaims, as the other bounces excitedly. Ingrid smiles back at her, allowing her hand to be taken as she too is pulled out of the room, chasing after the father and son who have long since thundered down a distant hallway.

Her heart is soaring, laughter escapes her lips, and she realises that she is finally happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this story! I would love to know your thoughts if you enjoyed it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feel free to find me on Twitter @nikobynight for my FE3H related posts and art. This story will be updated every Friday until every chapter is up, so do look forward to it.


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